


viva la vida (or death and all his friends)

by fiveisarat



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Coldplay References, Dark, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Fluff, Gay, Gotham City - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Joker (DCU) Has Issues, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Obsessive Behavior, Oh My God, Original Character(s), Pining Arthur, Sad Ending, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveisarat/pseuds/fiveisarat
Summary: Arthur Fleck can honestly say he's never had a friend. But he has a purpose- his journey to becoming a stand-up comedian, and his dream of making people happy. He dresses as a clown and spins signs for stores, and lives with his mother, and goes to see his therapist, and takes seven different medications. His life is hardly worth living, and it seems like everyone thinks it, too. Oh, and all the laughing outbursts don't help.Life is never kind to Mars Carson for long. Abandoned by both parents, he's survived foster homes, gone to public school (and dropped out twice), and just tries to mind his business. Now, he plays the piano and sings in clubs, and goes to his local record shop in his spare time. But just when he thinks he's finally out of the woods, he sits next to a sad man on the bus and, in helping him, he might just hold the future of Gotham City in his hands.Or, the story of two dorks in love, laughter, and what happens when society ignores the poor and downtrodden for too long.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Original Male Character(s), Sophie Dumond/Arthur Fleck, Sophie Dumond/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. life in technicolor

**Author's Note:**

> i'm pretty much convinced the events of Joker could have been absolutely avoided if Arthur had one or two good friends and a decent therapist. so this is a totally self-indulgent, gay, somewhat fluffy fic. um, enjoy? ig? 
> 
> btw: the title of this story comes from the album viva la vida by coldplay, and so did the chapter titles. can you tell i'm a chris martin stannie?

"And that's it!" I grin at the small audience in the club. I get some applause and a shout from a drunk guy at the bar. "Thank you guys so much for havin' me. I'll see ya, alright?" I get up from the piano, wave at the crowd and walk offstage. I put my water bottle and a couple paper towels back here before the show, so I take a swig of the water (it's almost half the bottle) and wipe my face with the paper towels. I look around for my backpack- I tossed it on a chair somewhere back here, and as soon as I get it I can take the bus home. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I turn my head to look for my bag. 

I'm really nothing special- pale skin (I don't get out much), black hair, shaved on the sides but overgrown and hanging in my face in the front. I'm in a tight, slightly damp from sweat, black t-shirt and jeans. I've got my scuffed, beat up black combat boots on too, the only halfway decent pair of shoes I have. 

My bag is over on the counter of the changing room I holed up in fifteen minutes before the show. I walk over and open it, pulling my black jacket out of it and putting it on. I sling the backpack over my shoulder, rake a hand through my hair and push the door open to the rest of the club. 

"Hey, good job, man," the manager of the club, the Eclectic, comes up as I walk out, and claps me on the shoulder. He's a short, stocky man with a brown buzzcut, and I don't remember his name at all. "Almost didn't believe your friend when he said you were decent." I ignore the backhanded compliment and smile back. 

"Thanks. If the pay's always this good, you bet I'll be back," I say, and he pats my shoulder again. I walk out of the back exit and shiver at the cold. It's about 5, I was playing the slow afternoon hours. But Gotham is always cold, all the time, so I put in my earbuds and walk to the bus stop. Luckily, I'm not waiting for long- the green and white bus pulls up, and as always I'm the only person at this stop. 

As I step on, I notice that my usual seat near the front is taken- oh. It's a new rider. The regulars know not to switch seats. Unspoken agreements. I look up, towards the back, to see if I've got to stand for 35 minutes on the way back to Midtown. 

"Oh, thank fuck," I whisper, to the chagrin of the old lady sitting in the seat next to where I'm standing. I don't pay any attention to her, though, because there's an empty seat, next to one of the regulars. That seat's always empty, but since we seem to be shaking shit up on the bus today, I wasn't sure. 

The regular in the seat next to the empty one I'm headed for is leaning against the window, looking out of it aimlessly. He's got shoulder length brown-black hair, and he's slightly older. He's wearing a light brown jacket over a faded green sweater and a white button-down shirt, and looking out of the window. There's a threadbare grey scarf around his neck. 

And he is _absurdly_ pretty. 

I've come to terms with being gay. It's nothing I can change. I certainly don't go around trying to find myself a boyfriend, however. Midtown is a shitty place, filled with shitty people and their godawful biases. I saw a guy beaten up by his own brother because they _thought_ he was gay. So I don't talk about it. It rarely even ever crosses my mind. And it isn't like I haven't noticed the guy before- he's on this bus every damn day, of course I have. But I never looked too hard, and I absolutely didn't have to sit next to him. 

Except right about now. It's almost unfair, how attractive he is. I realize I've been staring at him and walking way too slowly. I shoot an apologetic glance to the old lady from before and slide into the seat next to him. He looks up and shifts towards the window, away from me. Usually I'd be thankful for the gesture- it's awkward, it's different. But this time I'm not sure I want him to move away. 

Get it together, Carson. You're not a blushing schoolgirl. 

"Hey," I say, putting on my best smile. He looks at me, blinking slowly as if he can't believe I'm talking to him. 

"Hello," he says, and his voice is _nice_ , definitely like he hasn't talked in a couple hours. Look, at least he's talking to me. 

"I'm Mars Carson. I usually sit up front." 

He sits up a little, and even though he's looking at me with a sort of caution that I completely understand, I have his attention. "I'm Arthur. Um- Arthur Fleck." 

My grin gets a little wider. Arthur. _Arthur_. "Cool," I manage to reply, cursing myself for sounding like a breathless, giggly idiot with a crush. He's just pretty, don't get crazy. "What d'you do?" Oh god. See, this happens sometimes- I was raised in the alleys of Midtown, and even after years away from it, the accent still clings to me like a wet t-shirt. 

Arthur smiles a little then, a small one, and looks down at his hands, fingers tangled together in his lap. "I'm- um, working towards a career in stand-up comedy." 

I let out a little laugh, and his head shoots up. I hold up my hands as I realize how it sounds. "Oh shit," I say, flushing with embarrassment. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that." Jesus. I haven't been this easy to blush since I was in middle school. "That sounds really cool." 

He smiles a little wider, a little slower. "It does?" he asks, a little tentatively. 

I cock my head. "Yeah," I say. "You gotta be funny, then. You got any jokes you can tell me?" 

"I'm working on it," Arthur says. 

"Well, when you finish you _have_ to show me," I say, my tone a little more excited than it needs to be. I should not be this worked up about a stranger's fucking _comedy routine_. 

"Sure," he replies. "What- What about you?" 

I pull my earbud out of my ear. It's clear I'm not going to be listening to music, not that I even want to anymore. "I'm a singer," I grin. "I sing, play piano in bars, like that." 

"You must be a good singer, then," Arthur says, smiling at how he's using my line.

I laugh a little. "I'm okay," I say. 

"You sing in bars, you must be better than _okay_ ," he grins. 

"Sure, alright, I'm _decent_ ," I concede. He sits back, smile still on his face. I notice a little kid sitting in the seat in front of us with his mother. He's watching our exchange. Arthur shoots me a look and looks a little uncomfortable, but before I can say anything, he's smiling at the kid, leaning forward a little bit. He makes a face and covers it with his hands, then whisks them away quickly, revealing a comical, happy expression. The kid giggles. I smile, finding his excitement almost contagious. Arthur does it again, making some more faces. I find that I'm laughing, albeit quietly, along with the kid. 

It all goes bad about five seconds later when the kid's mother turns around and goes-

"Can you please stop bothering my kid?" And that's pretty rich, coming from her- by the look of the little guy, he's been bawling his eyes out for awhile. Maybe she should be happy that the noises he's making are happy ones. 

But what's worse is looking over at Arthur, and seeing him look a little lost, a little dumbstruck. I'm about to get defensive as the mom turns around and fusses over her son, getting him to sit down and stay still. But Arthur beats me to the punch- although it's barely a _punch_. 

"I wasn't bothering him, I was-" he starts.

"Just _stop_." she snaps, and turns back around. 

Arthur ducks his head and looks crestfallen. Like there's more to his reaction than the harsh words of the mother. I'm about to say something, lean forward and spit something potentially really nasty, but Arthur must catch on, and he reaches out and touches my wrist. It's a feather-light touch, but I startle and look up at him. 

His face just _crumbles._

He's trembling, mouth curled like he's about to cry. He fumbles in his jacket pocket for a moment, pulling out a worn, laminated card and pushes it towards me. I pick it up, and it reads, _Forgive my laughter: I have a condition._ On the bottom it says _more on back_ and I flip it over. The back says _It's a medical condition causing sudden, frequent, and uncontrollable laughter that doesn't match how you feel. It can happen in people with a brain injury or certain neurological conditions. Thank you!_

"Laughter?" I mumble, and that's when I hear it- a sharp, choked sound. Barely a laugh. I turn- "Holy shit," I whisper, watching as he tries to hold back his laughter and fails, more loud, ugly laughing filling the back of the bus. 

The woman turns around and I just _know_ she's gonna take this the wrong way. 

"What, you think that's funny?" she asks bluntly. Her kid doesn't even look around at us. Thank god. Arthur tries to shake his head but his laughter makes it hard to move, let alone talk. I put a hand on his shoulder and silently hand the woman the card. She looks at it- but I know she doesn't read it. She shakes her head and lets go of it- I see it flutter to the ground. She's not even looking at me, but I shoot her a glare and let go of Arthur for a second to lean over and pick it up. When I look back, Arthur's got two knuckles in his mouth to try and muffle the sounds. I see tears running down his face, and I reach over and slide the card back into his pocket. 

So now I have to decide what to do. I've never really been good at calming people down, and I certainly have never had to calm a hysterically laughing man on the bus. People are staring. I give them all the same death glare I gave the kid's mother. I lean sideways a little, resting my shoulder against Arthur's as he takes shallow, shuddering breaths. It sounds _painful_ , like he's trying to cry but all that comes out is gut-wrenching laughter. I reach up and grasp lightly at his jacket. 

He tenses when I touch him, even though the laughing. Everyone does that in Gotham- shit, I do that. But to see him flinch, like I was going to hit him is more sad than it has any right to be. But the longer I stay there, fingers curled in fabric, shoulders and thighs touching, the less he seems to mind it. 

I try to think of how I can stop, or at least slow down Arthur's laughing before he hacks up a lung or goes hoarse. Looking straight on forward is getting awkward, so I tip my head sideways to rest it lightly on top of my hand on his coat. And I wrack my brains for a song I know, a song that might help, that might calm him. And I settle on one- one that I've sung to little kids, even though they didn't know what the lyrics meant. I've sung it at bars on late nights when the only people around are drunks too far gone to care what I play. 

I hum it instead, keeping the melody simple. When I start, you can barely hear it over the laughter. Arthur looks at me, confused, or, at least, he does the best he can. I just keep still and keep humming. Eventually, about halfway through the chorus, I hear the laughs come farther and farther between, quieter and quieter. He lets out a shaky breath, and I take that as my cue to stop.

I lift my head and move a littler further away. My fingers, when I straighten them, twinge with a little bit of pain. I was holding on tighter than I thought, I guess. 

"You good?" I ask, clearing my throat a little and turning to look at Arthur. He's wiped his eyes, letting some of his hair fall in his face. I shove my hands into my pockets to stop the urge to tuck the hair behind his ear. "Sounded like you were gonna cough up a lung." 

"Yeah," he says, and I notice he keeps his voice quieter. "It happens. A lot. So." 

"Hey, man, I don't judge," I say, glancing at him. "You can't help it. It's fine." 

"Really?" Arthur asks, eyes going a little wider. 

"Yeah," I say, smiling a little. I lower my voice and grin conspiratorially. "Besides, what you did with her kid? It was awesome." He returns my smile, then looks over to be sure the woman isn't going to butt in again. 

"Thank you," he says, and it's almost a whisper. His lips are slightly parted, he's leaning towards me, and his eyes sparkle green in the fading yellow light. 

"Anytime," I promise. I'm surprised to say that I mean it. 


	2. cemeteries of london

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, pining! have fun. 
> 
> this is... something. chapters 3 and 4 are... something, alright. it's mostly 4, but 0.0

I start to notice how he winces when he shifts sitting positions as time goes on. At first I dismiss it- work can do that to a guy. But it happens so often in such short stretches of time that I start to get a little concerned. 

"Hey, Arthur," I say during a lull in conversation. He looks up. "You're sorta-" he shifts and it comes again, a tiny little flicker of pain before his expression smooths out again. "That," I say lamely. "You alright?" 

"Yeah," he says, and it's too quick to be honest. I narrow my eyes. 

"What happened?" I ask quietly. 

"Got jumped," he says, shrugging as if it's no big deal. 

"What?" I exclaim, trying to keep my voice down. People get jumped here all the time, but who would jump him, y'know? He doesn't exactly look like he's got money or anything worth stealing. "Why?" 

"They thought it was funny, I guess," Arthur replies, looking away. "I want to be a comedian, but at the moment I'm a clown," he says, tone a little rueful. 

I frown. "You shittin' me? Clowns are cool. Kids don't like 'em much now, but when I was little I thought they were the best," I lean back in my seat. I notice my accent coming out thicker than before, which happens when I'm not watching it or I get upset. 

"Wait," I say, sitting up again. "Turn your head?" I ask, and he does, looking confused. "Yeah, you got paint on ya," I mumble, reaching up and rubbing my thumb across the fleck of white on the side of his face. 

"It happens," Arthur says, and laughs a little nervously. I let myself laugh with him, a little softer, a little lower. My fingers rest on his cheek for way longer than they need to be there, and he looks back at me, a little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. I let out a breath and move my hand back to rest in my lap. 

I open my mouth to say something, but the bus shudders to a stop. Midtown. 

"Oh. Um. This is my stop," I grin, standing up and picking up my backpack. 

"It's mine, too," Arthur says, and I can feel my smile get wider. 

"Wait, where do you live, in Midtown?" I ask as I walk off the bus, with him behind me. 

"A tiny apartment building," he shrugs. "Sort of in the middle of everything." 

"Yeah?" I say. "I'm right in the middle too. Also in a tiny apartment building." 

He laughs a little. "I have to stop at the pharmacy first," he says, a little bit of an apology in his voice. 

I just shrug. "Fine by me. You want me to wait outside or somethin'?" I pause. "I mean, if you want. I could just-" I jerk my thumb in the opposite direction, where a shortcut to my place is.

"No, it's fine," he smiles at me and I have to look down to stop the blush that's creeping over my face. 

"Outside it is, then," I say, and we start walking. It becomes clear really quick that he lives in a nastier part of town. It just seems darker over here, and I recognize the streets- I used to live here. Well, before the foster care people found me, that is, but I used to live here. Two drunks beat the shit out of each other on the corner as we stop outside a run-down drugstore. 

"I'll wait out here," I say.

Arthur frowns a little. He looks over at the drunks. "Will you be okay?" 

"Won't be long, will it?" I ask. 

"No," he replies. 

"Then I'll be fine," I reply, smiling. He returns it and walks into the store. 

I hear a couple of kids yelling in Spanish from the building next to the store- Mrs. Martinez, the lady who ran the orphanage I lived in and out of for a few years, spoke Spanish, and I've picked up a few words (most of which are curses that Martinez used around the house). 

"Hey!" I step out from under the drugstore's awning. "Callate la boca!" There's some laughter, but they quiet down and chatter among themselves on the fire escape above us. I grin. I've always wanted to say that. 

"Hey," I hear Arthur from behind me. I turn, unable to hold back my grin. He's smiling too, and brushes his hair out of his face. 

"All good?" I ask. 

"Yeah," he replies. He's holding a white paper bag, and I follow as he starts down the street. I hear the kids start laughing, and I look up to see one with an empty Coke can in his hand. I glare hard, and he leans forward and drops the can into the trash bags. I nod and look back and see Arthur watching this interaction. 

"Damn kids," I quip. 

"You're pretty young yourself," he snorts. 

I gasp, taking mock offense. "I'm the ripe old age of 21, I'll have you know." 

Arthur blinks. "I think I'll stick with what I said." 

I laugh, covering my mouth so I don't wake up the old man sleeping outside a grocery store. "Wow," I say. "Rude." But I bump his shoulder with mine, because he seems like the type who might not always know when I'm joking. 

"Sure," he says, and I look down at my boots on the sidewalk. It hides my stupidly large smile. I've been smiling for the past what, the past hour? I'm acting like a fourteen year old in love for the first time. 

_He's got a pretty face. That's all it is._

If that's all it is, then why doesn't it feel like that? 

I shake my head to clear those thoughts. I can't be getting all deep now. This is starting to look like a mistake- it's sunset, and once the sun goes down in Gotham, shit gets nasty quick. 

We're in front of Arthur's building before I know it, and I scuff the toe of my boot on the sidewalk. I look up at him, to find he's already watching me. 

"That was... really fun," I say. 

"Yeah," he replies, and I realize I'm standing a little too close. If I had the balls (and less social anxiety) I'd reach up on my tip-toes and kiss him. But I don't, so I keep the urge to myself and just let my lips form a smile. 

"Are you taking the bus tomorrow?" he asks, fidgeting with the bag. 

"You bet," I grin. "Gotta go tell the manager'a that club that he's got himself a new singer." 

"Does that mean you'll be on the bus more, then?" Arthur inquires, looking like he already knows the answer. 

"Twice a week," I say smugly. "At _least_." 

His smile widens. "Tomorrow, then." 

"Yeah." Arthur waves as he walks into the building, and I wave back. I grin at the door to the apartment complex like a total idiot for at least fifteen seconds before I snap out of it. 

Carson, you dumb _shit_. What is this? What are you doing? 

I can't figure that out myself. I walk quickly towards a small alleyway that lets out onto my street, pulling out my pack of cigarettes from my front jean pocket. I light up quickly, blowing the smoke out upwards, watching it fade away into the now-grey sky. 

"Hey, pretty boy," a raspy voice says from just next to me. I startle hard, whirling to see an unshaven, dirty drunk guy leaning against the dumpster. 

"Hey," I say, airing on the side of polite caution. 

"You lookin' for a good time?" he slurs. 

"Maybe later," I say, and walk past him and onto the street before he can respond. I'm in my apartment building, taking the three flights of stairs up to my floor quickly. "Fuck. Where's my key?" I mutter, fishing around in my other pocket. Luckily, my key's in that pocket, along with my earbuds. I unlock the door and walk in, to see my roommate, Devin, playing a video game in the tiny living room. 

"Goddamn, this again?" I say as I close the door. "You've been playin' this shit all week." 

"Well, it's a good game," he calls back. "And you're late." 

"Yeah," I say, taking off my jacket and dumping it on the chair next to the door. 

"You meet somebody?" he pauses the game. 

Devin. He's a character. He's got dark brown skin, curly black hair, and bright brown eyes. He's the nicest guy you'll ever meet, but he's got a nasty right hook you should watch out for. Also can get all up in your business if he wants to. Like right about now. 

"Just a friend," I say, not looking at him. 

"Bull _shit_ ," he smirks. "You're blushing. You don't blush." 

"You wouldn't know shit," I flip him off good-naturedly. "You're high as a kite half the time." 

"You're the one who's on the straight and narrow," Devin shrugs. "Come on. Who'd you bone?" 

"I didn't _bone_ nobody," I say. "I _met_ someone. On the bus, 'cause some bitch took my seat." 

"Go on," he gestures. 

"Oh shut up," I say. "He's hot. That's it." 

"That is not it," Devin grins knowingly, but he doesn't ask. Thankfully.

"Whatever," I laugh. "Gimme a controller. I want to play." 

A few hours later, I put down said controller, flexing my fingers. Devin's got the last two cans of beer out of the fridge, and I grab one and take a long drink from it. 

"Okay, fine," I huff. "I'll tell you." 

Devin turns to face me lightning fast. "Speak." 

I grin. "Okay. He's tall, for sure older than me-" 

"Oh?" Devin gasps. "Sugar daddy?" 

"Fuckin' hell, no!" I exclaim, giggling. "He's takin' the bus, for cryin' out loud, why would a sugar daddy take the _bus_?"

"So just daddy. I can live with that," my friend says as if it's some huge hardship. 

"You're so dramatic," I roll my eyes. 

"Hey, we gotta pay the bills somehow," he says. 

"We're not totally broke," I reply. I pause. "Are we?" 

Devin laughs, hard. "Well, as long as we aren't on the streets, I'd say no." 

"Good," I sit back, snorting when Devin starts quoting me. 

"' _Are_ we broke?'" he asks and I shove him lightly. 

"That's not how I sound!" 

"It kind of is!" 

We pester each other for a little while longer until I start yawning, and Devin almost knocks over my beer with his elbow. 

"You think it's time to hit the sack?" I ask. 

"Sure," Devin agrees. And then he grins wickedly. "Now, you have some _sweet dreams_ , Carson." 

"You are so fuckin' irritating," I mumble, and he starts laughing. 

"Okay, okay. Sure. See you in the morning." 

"Alright. 'Night." 

I change into fresh underwear and a pair of grey sweatpants. Going into the bathroom, I shove Devin out of the way playfully to get to my toothbrush. He's already brushing his teeth, and so when he tries to protest it comes out sounding jumbled and confusing. 

"What?" I tease. "Can't understand ya." 

He spits out the toothpaste. "You're a dick," he says, smiling. 

"Ha ha," I roll my eyes and start to brush my teeth. He walks out of the bathroom with a smile and I hear the door to his room close. I'm not far behind, turning off the lights and slipping under the absurd amount of blankets on my bed. Well, it's just a mattress on the floor, but whatever. It's warm and soft enough, and I'm asleep before I know it. 

It's raining the next morning. Wonderful. I pick up my phone and check to see what I've got going on today. Nothing until noon, when I've got to go back to the manager of the club from yesterday to tell him I'm taking the job. Then I'm assuming I'll be playing a shift there. And then, in two days, one at a club I've never played before. Some sort of comedy place, and apparently I'm the entertainment before they start putting people onstage. The text from the guy who got me the job says that I should play some "energetic shit" and be prepared for... does that say _dancers_? 

You know what? Not the weirdest thing I've heard. But I put my phone down on the nightstand. It's looking like today's going to be wild. So if I don't have anything until noon, I should probably practice- especially for the comedy club. At least I know what to play at the first place, the Eclectic nightclub. Slow, smooth piano. 

I get up and get dressed. I'm in black t-shirt under a plain grey hoodie, the jeans from yesterday, and my giraffe socks that Devin's boyfriend, Charlie, got me for my birthday last year when he was staying with us. I grin. They're bright pink socks with fucking _giraffes_. I love them. 

I put my hood up, not bothering to do anything with my hair just yet, and walk over to my keyboard. Devin's already left for work, since it's 8 AM now. I turn up the volume and play a couple scales to warm up. I hum a little too, trying to figure out a two or three-song set list for the comedy place, Pogo's. Bright, energetic shit, right? So I roll into the intro of one of my favorites to play in a hyped-up crowd. Since I've barely warmed up, I just hum along with it, and I start the chorus and stop. 

"Alright," I say to myself. "Sounds good." 

So I try the next one, a snazzy Elton John song that never fails to make people clap along. I play the whole thing, singing the last chorus and grinning as I finish. I add a little flourish at the end, sliding my fingers up the keys and ending with a quick chord. I like it! I like this. 

I get up and walk out of my room, into the kitchen. I need coffee if I'm going to get anything done this morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Spanish mars speaks:  
> callate la boca: shut the fuck up 
> 
> leave a comment or kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	3. lost!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the songs mars plays at the Eclectic (in order):  
> thinking out loud - ed sheeran  
> dying in la - panic! at the disco (there's a reason i moved the timeline lmao it's so I could put these songs in)

I'm on the bus to the Eclectic, earbuds firmly in. I spent most of the morning practicing, even though I know my songs like the back of my hand. It pays to practice. I realized we didn't have any coffee in the house (goddammit, Devin, we've talked about this), so I ended up going out to a tiny cafe near the apartment and getting coffee there. I got a couple snacks too, so I'm definitely not complaining. 

At the moment, I'm texting the manager from the Eclectic (I've finally learned his name, it's Bobby). Just to see that I'm still okay to perform this afternoon, that I didn't pay for this bus ride for nothing. As I wait for a response, I tip my head back against my regular seat and stare at the back of the seat in front of me. I'm tapping my foot to my music, hoping t's not long until we get there. And I could find out how far away we are- it's just that the stops are listed on this poster near the doors of the bus, and I don't feel like half-standing up to look. 

The bus stops a little while later, it's only been about fifteen minutes. I look up sharply- it's my stop, and I swing out of my seat and head off the bus. I glance down at my phone. I know where the club _is,_ but I'd still like to be there on time and not get lost, so I scroll up to the address again. 

There's only about four cars in the parking lot when I get there, opening the door and walking inside. The walls are painted black, a startling contrast to the bar by the door- its' counters painted a glossy white. There's a space in front of the stage, the dance floor. Towards the back, and the bar, are small tables And a black grand piano's already been wheeled out onto the stage. 

"Hey, Carson," Bobby walks up to me, rubbing his hands together and smiling. "You good to just chill until people start coming in?" 

"Yeah," I say, returning his expression. "I've got two songs- I can work three in, depends on how long ya need me." 

"Two sounds good," he says. "You've got another thing at what, two?" 

"Gotta be on the bus by two," I shrug. 

"Alright. You know the rules," Bobby reminds me. I nod. No crazy shit, going off the rails, and minimal swearing in songs. I know. I hop onto the stage and drop my bag next to the bench. A couple of scales and I'm feeling good, ready to go.

There's not a single person other than staff in here, so I launch into some classical pieces. I start with my favorite, the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Remember Mrs. Martinez, who taught me to swear in Spanish? Well, she loved classical music, just as much as she loved to swear, so this was one of the first pieces I learned by myself. I try a couple more pieces, until a couple walks in, holding hands.

I grin and say into the mic, "Hey, guys," and the girl waves at me, brushing her long brown hair out of her face. For a moment I think of Arthur and- no, Mars, now is _not_ the time to be gay. Do your job. "What's the occasion?" I ask.

The man she's with smiles. "Nothing much, really. Bobby's her uncle," and the girl grins. 

"Yeah, and he said he's got a new guy on piano, so we wanted to see!" she says cheerfully. 

"That'd be me, so you're in luck," I say, my stage bravado giving me confidence. "Since you seem like a lovely couple-" and they look at each other, obviously besotted. The man leans down and kisses her cheek. "I'll play somethin' cute, alright? You just get comfortable." They nod and pick a place to sit down. 

I place my fingers over the keys and smile widely as I think of the perfect song. Was it on my setlist? No, but I love this song, and I'm sure they will too. 

"When your legs don't work like they used to before," I start, and the girl titters with recognition. "And I can't sweep you off of your feet." 

Over the course of the song, a few more people trickle in, some alone, some with significant others. I try, I try desperately not to think about Arthur at all. About how every line, every line about wanting to be kissed up to the light of a thousand stars, is _right_. How every line about how people fall in love in mysterious ways hits home so accurately it's like I've been hit in the face with it. How stupidly perfect love is _exactly_ what I want, as much as I tell everyone it's not. Exactly what I felt for Arthur on that bus, walking down the dirty streets of Gotham at night with him. 

And each time, I force myself to remember that I've spoken to him on _one_ occasion. And that even if I do have some sort of rapid-onset feelings for him, they are most likely unrequited. My voice almost breaks on the last _we found love right where we are._ I see a woman in tears, hugging her husband. I'm almost crying too. 

Oh god. What is this? What have I worked myself into? 

I force a smile and a quiet "thank you" before playing a little wordless melody and transitioning into the next song, a song about washed-up stars and realizing that nobody knows your name anymore. It's easier to sing this one, and it's just because it's _not_ about love. 

How does this happen? How do I spend almost an hour with a guy I've never met, and then all of a sudden every song about love reminds me of him? What is it about him? I thought Disney lied about that "love at first sight" shit. I have to hold a condescending noise back. I am so stupid. 

I finish the song on autopilot, with a little flourish at the end. I get a standing ovation, and I can't keep the cheek-splitting smile off my face. It doesn't matter that it's almost four o'clock and I've only played two songs. It doesn't matter that Bobby is wiping away tears in the corner of the place. 

_I love you._

I think it as I pick up my backpack. I think it as Bobby pays me and I walk out of the Eclectic. It doesn't leave my mind while I walk to the bus stop and get on when the bus arrives. I can't stop smiling. 

The next day is... _something._

I don't have anything until later tonight, at Pogo's. So I kill time by watching a shit ton of awful reality television. But later that afternoon, I walk downtown anyway, wanting to check out a few stores. There's a record shop down there, and I've got some spare cash I can blow, thanks to yesterday's gig. It's Kenny's Music Store, and it's going out of business. They're having a blowout sale to get rid of all of the music they can't sell anymore, so everything is bound to be dirt cheap. 

I walk down the dirty streets, mingling with the crowds until I get to the shop. I push open the wooden door and walk in. There's a bored-looking college kid behind the register, but nobody else in the place besides him and I. I head straight for the back, where the rare stuff is, along with any punk rock they've got. 

"Oh shit yeah," I mumble, coming across a Pearl Jam CD. I grin. There's also a Pink Floyd vinyl sitting in an otherwise empty box on the floor that I snag. All in all, I've got four CDs and the vinyl, and I decide I've got to stop myself now. I take them up to the register. 

"Your total's 34 even," the college kid says a moment later, after examining the changed price stickers on the items. 

"Thanks," I say, and shake my head when he asks if I need a bag. I walk over to the door, putting my new music in my backpack before leaving. I tip my head back and look at the sky- grey, as usual. But I don't care. It feels like my skin itches to find Arthur, to see him again. It's like I'm seeing everything through rose-colored glasses. Everything looks better now. 

I look at my phone quickly to see the time. I have another hour until I have to be on the bus to Pogo's, and the sun is already starting to dip below some of the tallest buildings in Midtown. So I start walking- away from the store with no real plan in mind, not thinking about where I'm going. And I find that I'm humming the song I'd played for the couple at the club the night before. 

" _Kiss me up to the light of a thousand stars,_ " I whisper to myself, letting myself think, finally, about Arthur. I am so screwed. I love it. " _Oh, darlin', place your head on my beating heart, I'm thinkin' out loud. Maybe we found love right where we are._ " 

I'm broken out of my reverie by the sound of a little girl laughing. I look up- a clown with the standard bright red nose in white, red, and black face paint, large clown shoes, and a patched-up suit. On his head is a bald cap with two frizzy patches of bright green hair sticking out just above his ears. He's crouching down, making faces at the girl, who looks maybe six with long blonde hair. She has dried tear tracks running down her cheeks. I walk over, unable to resist smiling. They both look up at me, and I meet her eyes first, smiling. But when I look at the clown, the thing that sticks out are his eyes- a hazel-green that's starting to look more and more green. And the more I look, the more I realize- this is _Arthur._ He looks happy. This isn't a part he's playing to make kids feel good. _He_ feels good too. It shows. He's still just as beautiful in a damned clown wig. 

"Hey," I say softly, trying desperately to remember how to look away and not stare like a creep. 

"Annie!" A shrill woman's voice sounds from behind us, and a woman with frizzy brown hair tied back in a ponytail dashes up to us, picking the little girl up and holding her close. "Thank you so much for keeping her safe," she says, relief in every word. 

"You're welcome, ma'am," the clown says, and now I know it's definitely Arthur. She smiles and walks off, gently scolding her daughter. I look down at the pavement, at the toes of our shoes. 

"You weren't jokin' with the clown thing, huh?" I ask, finally looking up at Arthur. I try not to laugh at the lame pun I've unintentionally made. 

"No," he says, and his voice is quiet, a little nervous. The joy he'd been practically radiating is practically gone. "I wasn't." 

"You kiddin'?" I say, reaching out and touching his shoulder lightly. "That girl was havin' the time of her life back there. _You_ did that. I think it's great." 

"Really?" he asks, meeting my eyes. I move my hand, shove them both in my pockets. 

"'Course," I grin and really take him in, in his clown outfit and face paint. I laugh, a low one, almost an exhale. "You look like such a dork. Not even in a bad way." I toss my head to get some of my hair out of my eyes. "Like- clowns can be cute, right?" 

"Cute?" he giggles a little. I duck my head. When did we move forward? When was it that I started standing so close to him? 

"Yeah," I gesture. "Come on, cut me some slack. I just played a club, I got nothin'." 

Arthur smiles. "I'm actually off in- what time is it?" 

I pull out my phone. "5:30," I tell him. 

"Thirty minutes, then." He says. 

"Damn," I mumble. "I've got a job." I look up, and the older man looks- disappointed? "Jesus, Artie," I laugh. "Don't look at me like that, I can call and ask the manager if he'll let me play later tonight." 

"Oh, I-" he stops, fidgeting with his fingers. "I didn't mean- you don't have to do that. Really." His eyes are wide, surprised. 

"Relax," I say, leaning over to bump his shoulder with mine. "Sure, I don't _have_ to do this. I want to, though." I grin. I pull out my phone, take a step back and dial the number of Pogo's MC. 

"Mars! What's up?" he asks. 

"JJ," I smile. "Look, if you can- I'm gonna need you to push my slot back a couple'a hours." 

"What, you sick or something?" 

"No. It's just that something came up," I say apologetically. "I can still play tonight, if you need an intermission thing or a break between acts, y'know." 

"I suppose we could just play the trashy shit on the radio. Be here by 8:30, we can have you play by 9," JJ says. 

"Thank you," I breathe, beaming wildly. 

"You're gonna owe me, Carson. Charlie isn't gonna like this." 

"Sure, sure," I concede. "Whatever." 

"Yeah, you're fuckin' welcome," JJ says, and hangs up on me. I put my phone back in my pocket and look up at Arthur, who's watching with his wide eyes and parted lips. 

"So. You gonna make me laugh?" I grin. "You're a comedian, ain't ya?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuckin' wonderful 
> 
> leave a comment/kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	4. 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick tw for slightly homophobic language/harassment 
> 
> also... PLOT PROGRESSION, BABY

We're on the streets for a little while longer. Arthur dances to a song blaring from a shop's speakers, tells jokes, and does a magic trick for a group of little kids. I can't stop smiling. He's precious. I get the feeling that life has only fucked him over for a long time, but the fact that he just wants to make other people happy is... well, he's a bigger person already, right now than I could really hope to be. And it's wonderful. 

"It's six, you ready?" I call as the song that he's dancing to ends. He looks up at me, smiling. 

"Yeah. I've got to return the costume, though." he says. 

"Sure," I reply. "You want me comin' with ya?" 

"That'd be nice," he says, a little shy. I grin, hopping off the mailbox I've been sitting on, and walk over to him. I sling my arm around his shoulders, although it's hard because he's a head taller than me. 

" _Well_ ," I say emphatically, and he laughs. I just settle for walking close enough to him for our shoulders to brush. "Hey, it's not my fault. You're too damn tall."

"You're too short," Arthur shoots back. 

"Oh?" I press a palm to my chest, taking mock offense. "I'm a perfectly reasonable height. You're like-" I gesture at him. "A fuckin' giant." 

"And you put it so delicately, too," he snorts, but he's smiling. 

"Goin' after how I talk, huh? Well. I thought we were friends," I say. 

"We are," he says, and his tone is a little too earnest to be joking. I look up at him- he's carefully watching my reaction. 

"Of course we are," I tell him, keeping eye contact. "We're friends, Artie." 

"Nobody's ever given me a nickname before." Arthur stops, and his voice has dropped to a whisper. 

"Well," I smirk to hide the blushing mess I'm becoming, "Better get used to it, Fleck. If you're my friend, I'm gonna give ya all the nicknames you can handle." 

"All of them?" 

"As many as you want," I promise. He's adorable, he really is. "Lemme see, what could I call ya..." I stroke my chin, pretending to think. "I think I covered Artie, and I can call ya Art, too, can't I?" 

"Yeah," he says, voice still quiet, eyes still wide, like a child's. 

"Okay, so what else?" I gesture vaguely. And that's when the idea hits me, so I smirk again and grab his hand. It feels _right_ , but I do my best to ignore the flood of happiness touching him gives me. "Oh, I know," I say, lowering my voice. Arthur looks down at our hands, everything about him screaming surprise. "How about I just call ya _baby_?" 

And Arthur almost stops walking. 

" _Sweetheart_?" I offer, starting to laugh. It hurts, it hurts to say it when he thinks I don't mean it. But I force myself to laugh anyway, like _I'm_ the one who knows it's not real. Arthur, bless his fucking heart, flushes and laughs a little. I let go of his hand to pat him on the shoulder. "It's cool, man. I'm just fuckin' with ya." 

Arthur just laughs, and stops walking. We're in front of Ha-Ha's- a joint that rents out clowns, and strippers, and just weird people overall. This is where Devin and I met, when we were 19. He was a dancer, almost out of work too, but Hoyt, the boss, hired him and got him jobs. Me, I'd just been fired from the place I used to sing at, and Devin and I had gigs together. 

We walk up the stairs, after he insists that I come with. I see all of the guys- Randall, Gary, a couple of the other twats we used to see around here all the time. Deja vu hits me like a brick to the face. Nothing's changed, since I was here last, ditching the booking agency and becoming a singer instead. 

"Hey, _hey_ _,_ look who's back!" Gary, a short guy with a British accent, crows. He points at me, and a dude stowing his magician props in his locker turns to look at me. I know all these guys, and I can't decide whether that's a good or bad thing. 

"Mars!" Randall grins. "Haven't seen your ass around here in forever. How are you, man?" 

"Doin' good," I say, letting myself return his smile. "Surprised Hoyt hasn't fired your ugly asses yet." 

Randall barks out a laugh. "He always liked you best." 

"It's 'cause I'm pretty," I grin. This was what it was like when Devin and I worked here, the banter between all the guys. Something tells me Arthur doesn't do this with them. 

"Whatcha doin' with funny man over here?" The magician guy says. I think his name is Victor, but I don't care enough to think back and figure it out. 

"He's my friend," I say. Vic snorts. 

"Didn't know he _had_ friends," he comments. 

"Hey, shut up, dumbass," Gary says. He walks over to his locker and starts to unlock it. "You're just jealous that Arthur's got a hot friend. How long have you been single?" Victor curses at him, but everyone's roaring with laughter, so I don't hear it. I grin and hook my thumbs in my pockets. Arthur flushes hard and walks over to his locker, in the corner of the room. I stay where I am, leaning against the wall and talking with the others. 

Victor comes over, out of his magician costume. He leers at me, and I return his expression with a half-lidded, blank stare. "What're you doing with a looney like him, huh?" 

"He's my friend," I repeat. "And he's not a looney, alright?" 

"Right," he drawls, "Probably just a little gay bitch like you, huh? You and the other one." 

I bristle. "Devin. And you don't get to say that, dickface. Weren't ya hittin' on me five seconds ago?" 

He leans closer. "I wouldn't say that if I were you." 

"And why not?" I retort. "Step off, why don't ya. There ain't _nobody_ here who would back ya if I said somethin'." 

He glares at me, hard, and I keep eye contact, glaring right back. He backs down and crosses the room to go back to his locker, grabbing his bag and storming out. I look up to see Arthur watching, having probably seen the whole interaction. 

"Yeah, Vic's an asshole," Randall says. "Just a big fucking attention seeker. Nobody pays attention to him anyway." 

"Always has been," I snark. Arthur lets out a nervous laugh, costume half-off. The wig is gone, and so is the shirt, the shoes and his waistcoat. Only his patched pants and face paint remain. I grin at him widely, and his smile in return is small, almost shy. 

"You see Devin lately?" Randall asks. 

"Yeah, we're roommates now," I say, shifting my attention and delibrately _not_ looking at Arthur's hips. Jesus H Christ. 

"He still dancing? Doing whatever it was you two were into?" 

"I think Devin still is," I reply. "Me? Definitely. Singin' in bars and shit." 

"Making money?" He asks.

"Yeah," I say, standing up straighter as I see Arthur pulling on his jacket and wiping the last of the makeup off his face. "People really like Elton John, as it turns out." 

He smirks. "Told you." We used to have arguments about music all the time, and his favorite singer's always been Elton John. Me, I liked Prince better, which sparked a lot of debate over his best albums and shit. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I smirk. "Hey, Artie, c'mere," I call, feeling mischievous. Also I notice that he's missed a tiny spot right by his ear, high on his cheek. There's a little bit of white paint right there. He looks up like a deer in the headlights. "You missed a spot," I mumble, taking his makeup wipe gently from him and getting the little spot off. "Alright, you're good," I beam, trying not to seem like an incorrigible flirt. 

"Fuckin' gayass," Gary snorts from the corner. 

"Hey, shut up," I laugh. "Just helpin' a guy out." 

"Friends, sure," he snarks and starts giggling. "More like _boy_ friends, Christ." 

"You ready to go?" I ask Arthur, lowering my voice. 

"Yeah," he says, and quickly goes back to pick up his bag. 

"I'll see you trainwrecks later," I grin. 

"Fuck you too, Carson," I hear Randall reply. I roll my eyes, laughing quietly, and I follow Arthur down the stairs and into the early evening light. 

"Did you work there?" Arthur asks once we're out the door. 

"Yeah, about a year ago," I shrug. "'S where I met my roommate. Only singer on the payroll." 

"Why'd you leave?" I look over, and his expression is inquiring. 

"Well, I wasn't about to stay at Ha-Ha's forever," I joke. "And I thought I could get better jobs on my own." 

"Vic said you were gay," Arthur says, and this time, he keeps his eyes firmly ahead, not looking at me. 

"Yeah," I say. "He wasn't wrong." My stomach drops. If I get a "that's fine, just don't hit on me" reply I've clearly misread the entire situation. Anything and everything he's ever said or done in my presence. 

"So you... you like kissing boys," he says, and it comes out a little nervous. 

"Yeah," I say and laugh dryly. "Don't worry, Art. I won't kiss ya, if that's what you're tryin' to get at." 

"No, I just-" Arthur stops and starts again, "I've never kissed anybody. So-" he stops again and I just wait. "How do I know what _I_ like, you know?" 

I frown a little. Not what I was expecting. "You ever liked someone?" I ask. I dread the answer. 

"Well, there's this woman in my building," he says, a little embarrassed, and I have to swallow the absolutely unnecessary jealousy rising in my throat. I have known this man for all of three days. I should not be worked up over this. Calm down, Carson. Jesus. 

"Then at least you know you like girls," I say. I intentionally don't meet his eyes. 

"But I don't know if I like..." he trails off. " _Boys_." He's not _innocent_ per se, but it makes absolutely no sense that a fully grown adult wouldn't at least have thought about this. It's strange that I'm the one he asks about it. But then, nothing about our friendship thus far has made much sense. He's like a teenager, still trying to figure out what he's into. Yeah, I grew up a little too fast, but come on- he's _older_ than me. For fuck's sake. 

I shrug, trying to get off this topic. I know why I'm so uncomfortable, I just hate that _that_ is the reason for it. "Guess you gotta try it out, then. Y'know- kiss a guy. See how it goes." 

"Okay," Arthur says, and he's fidgeting slightly with the zipper on his jacket. I barely have time to look up before he's stopped walking. I stop too, turning to face him fully. I get a flash of his green eyes before he's leaning down slightly and pressing his lips to mine. Right there in the darkening street. 

I go rigid with shock. But after a quick, panicked second, I reach up and press a hand to Arthur's cheek, reaching for his right hand with my other one. It goes on for longer than strictly necessary, but he pulls back after another moment and I let his hand go. He's still close- too close. I close my eyes. He's watching all of it. 

"Well, that's one way to find out," I whisper breathlessly. He lets out a little exhale that could be a laugh. I open my eyes, looking up at him. His eyes are darker now, in the quickly disappearing light, and he's studying me, his gaze intense and searching. 

Hee only did this to figure himself out, I remind myself. I have to go back to being the helpful friend. And I take a step back. 

"So," I say, forcing a grin on my face that is not genuine in the slightest. "What'd ya think?" 

"Maybe," Arthur says, expression mostly unchanged. "I think I need more experience." he shrugs. "Just to be sure." 

"Right," and I laugh, although it sounds forced and a little harsh. I pull out my phone. "Oh shit. Hey, this was great, but I pushed my gig back and, you know-" I gesture vaguely. "I gotta go." 

"Right," he echoes. "See you, then." 

"Yeah," I say, waving pathetically and walking quickly away towards the bus stop, the night settling over the city. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so i was rlly hesitant to put that last scene in there, mostly because of how rushed arthur and mars' relationship is. i do feel like that was definitely something arthur would do, as he seems like the type to not know social cues too well and do impulsive things like that. 
> 
> otherwise this chapter is pretty much just mars flirting with arthur even though he doesn't really realize that that's what he's doing. these fuckin dorks. 
> 
> leave comments or kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	5. lovers in japan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note: SWITCHEROO! just so we're clear on timelines, i've switched things up a little. arthur's pogo's routine is in *this* chapter, meaning that he gets beat up/fired/shoots 3 a-holes in a *later* chapter. otherwise nothing's really changed.) 
> 
> the songs mars plays at Pogo's:   
> i'm still standing - taron egerton (originally by elton john)   
> baby one more time - britney spears (dont ask lmao)

I run to the bus stop once I'm out of Arthur's line of sight. My heart thuds against my chest, like it's trying to jump out of me. When I get there, I plug my earbuds into my phone and crank the volume way higher than it needs to be. I'm slumping into my usual seat as the same old lady from before glares at me- she can probably hear the music through the earbuds. I don't care. 

The entire situation has left me confused, a little pissed off, and yet somehow giddy like a little girl. I'm happy Arthur kissed me- of course I am. But what I like a little less is being used to figure out if he likes guys. I don't think that was his intent- but it makes me uneasy. I shake my head. I'm being stupid. I have a show tonight, and when I'm feeling like shit I channel that energy into adrenaline. Sometimes those are my best performances. I just lean back into the seat and close my eyes. 

My stop comes quicker than I thought it would. I'm about ten minutes early, which means I'll get to watch some of the comics, which should be fun. 

When I walk in, I'm immediately accosted by JJ. He's got a cigarette in hand and is waving it around as he starts to talk very quickly. 

"JJ, calm down," I hiss. "Dude. Slow down. What are you talkin' about?" 

"Charlie's pissed, man," he says. "But he knows from other people that you put on a good show, so he's lettin' it slide. On one condition, though," he says. 

I raise an eyebrow. "What's the condition?" 

"One of the dancers. She's got a good voice, y'know, said she could play keys _and_ sing. Turns out," he takes a drag from the cig. "She can only play, like, one song. And it's not even shit you can dance to." 

"I have a feeling I know where this is going," I mutter. 

"Yeah," JJ smirks. "So I put her on a different song, but we need someone to play for it. I'm not about to go to the fuckin' hassle of downloading a track if someone can just play it." 

"So what's the song?" I ask. 

"Fuckin'-" he laughs. "Britney Spears shit. You know?" 

I laugh along with him. "The one where-" and I pretend to play the three note melody that starts Baby One More Time. JJ has to smother a loud cackle. 

"Yeah!" he says, grinning. "So can you play it? Char said he'd pay extra if you could." 

"Yeah, I can," I say, thinking a little. It's a pretty iconic song, I shouldn't have any trouble with it. 

"'Kay. Well, you play your songs, or whatever, and then we'll have her walk out, you know?" JJ gestures. "Although he said you might only play one song by yourself, y'know."

"Yeah, can do," I tell him. 

"Oh, and by the way," he smirks. "It's open mic night." 

"Oh shit," I grin. "You got all the un-funny newbies comin' up, don't ya?" 

"Damn straight," he says, taking another drag. "Knock-knock jokes and shit. Man." 

I elbow him lightly. "They don't do knock-knock jokes. Do they?" 

"Sometimes!" JJ complains. "Sometimes some dumbass walks up with 'knock knock' and expects the crowd to be all-" he makes jazz hands and adopts a high falsetto, "' _who's there_ '?" I double over laughing. 

"No shit?" 

"No shit, man. If your fuckin' routine is just knock-knock jokes, I don't want to see you within fifty _feet_ of a comedy club," he says, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. I giggle. "Hey, it's your turn," he jerks his chin at the comic who's saying his thank-yous and getting off the stage. A couple of people are moving a keyboard and a microphone onto the stage. 

"Thanks," I grin. "You tell Charlie thanks for me, too, okay?" 

"Yeah, I gotcha," JJ grins. "Break a leg, kid!" I give him a thumbs-up, ditch my backpack backstage, and walk out, to smattering applause from the audience. 

"Hey, guys," I smile widely. "I'm Mars, I'm entertaining you tonight, at least until our other comics arrive." I hear a catcall from the back- it's hard to see, but I'm pretty sure it's JJ. "This first song is called I'm Still Standing." It gets people clapping along towards the second verse. I spin around on the bench and hit the last chord home, whooping into the mic. This gets even more applause and a couple shouts. I toss my head. I fucking _love_ this. 

"Y'all ready for one last song?" says a girl into a microphone and I turn around. She's pretty- long, dark brown hair in a high ponytail and darker tan skin, wearing a white crop top and a short pink skirt. She winks and smiles at me as she passes me, going to the center of the stage. I smile back, and she nods at me to start. 

I play the first three notes, and people start clapping, I hear one guy laughing and a few more whoops and catcalls as we work through the intro. 

" _My loneliness_ ," she belts. " _Is killing me-_ " 

" _And_ _I_ ," I chime in, and she looks at me quickly, beaming, and starts to move a little to the beat. 

During the next verse and chorus, the girl gets way more comfortable being onstage, and starts walking around a little. I almost jump the first time she brushes her fingertips across my shoulders, but I adapt quickly and look up at her as she settles behind me. She's leaning down, her body brushing against mine. She's singing almost in my ear, but it doesn't matter, because I'm laughing and having a _kickass_ time. I catch the tiny sound of my laughter through the speakers- the mic must have caught it. 

" _I must confess, that my loneliness is killing me now... don't you know, I still believe,_ " she sings, and saunters to the front of the stage again, swaying her hips as she goes. I hear a loud whistle and I giggle into my own microphone. She winks and sings the last line, striking a pose as I slam on the keys to end the song. 

We get clapping, a standing fucking _ovation_ , and yells from the audience. The girl crosses the stage as I stand from the bench and wraps her arm around my shoulders, beaming at me. 

"Thank you so much for having us tonight," she says breathlessly into the mic. She and I exchange glances, and she leans over and kisses me on the cheek. I grin. 

"You killed it," I say in her ear, to be heard over the crowd. 

"Thank you," she smiles. A couple of people are taking the keyboard offstage behind us, and I take that as our cue. She walks beside me, arm still flung around my shoulders. "I'm Allison," she says. 

"Mars," I grin. "You did really awesome out there. Not everybody can belt Britney and _not_ sound like a dying animal." 

Allison giggles. "Yeah. If you work in a club long enough, you figure that out pretty easy." 

"I'm sure," I say. 

"You staying?" she asks. "I want to get a drink, maybe see some of these comics. It's open mic night," she winks, and I can tell she's thinking the same thing JJ said to me- _unfunny newbies_. 

"Why not," I decide. It's not like I have anywhere I have to be tonight. Allison grins and disappears into the crowd to find JJ. Pogo's doesn't usually supply alcohol, but if you're a performer, or you killed your stand-up, rumor has it he'll hook you up. I guess said rumors were right, because Allison returns with two beers. "Thanks," I smile and take a long drink from it. 

The guy onstage is doing alright, I'm laughing a little, and Allison is too. When he's done, he thanks everyone for their time and gets off the stage. 

"No knock-knock jokes yet," JJ says. He's sidled up next to us, and I raise my bottle in a mock toast. 

"Nope," I reply. "Thanks for these, by the way." 

"No problem," he shrugs, leaning back against the wall. "Oh shit, I gotta introduce somebody, don't I?" and he's pushing himself off the wall and bolting up to the stage. Allison and I laugh as he hurriedly unfolds a piece of paper and starts to talk. 

"He does this all the time," she says conspiratorially.

"'M sure," I snort.

"This next comic describes himself as a lifelong Gotham resident who, from a young age was always told that 'his purpose in life was to bring laughter and joy into this cold, dark world.'" JJ pauses. "Um. Okay," and the rest of the audience laughs. Allison giggles a little. I crack a grin. 

"It's a noble cause," I quip, and she laughs. 

"Please help me welcome _Arthur Fleck_ , y'all! Arthur Fleck," and he starts clapping to get everyone else going. 

Arthur? What is he doing here? 

"You know this guy?" Allison leans over and whispers. I guess I wasn't hiding my surprise at all. He walks out onstage in a fucking- is that a waistcoat? That should not be as hot as it is. 

"Yeah," I whisper back. "Said he wanted to do stand-up, didn't know he meant like," I gesture. " _Tonight_." She turns back to the stage as Arthur stands in front of the mic. Look, at least I'll get to hear some of his jokes now. 

And there's a moment of silence. He tries to say something, pauses, and then all of a sudden, like it's just slipping out, are the beginnings of laughter. 

"Oh shit," I mumble. Allison looks over as the laughing only escalates. JJ walks back to us, looking confused. 

"What the hell is happening," he mutters. 

"This is bad," I whisper. "This is really bad." 

He shoots me a look. "Do you know him?" 

"Yes," I nod, not even thinking about how it looks to them that I know the guy having a laughing breakdown onstage. 

"Well then what is going on up there?" JJ asks. "And do I need to drag him off?" 

"Wait, wait," I say, because it looks like Arthur might be halfway to getting words out. "Give him a sec." 

"Hello," he manages before lapsing into more laughter. He tries to speak more, but it's cut off and he can barely get it out. 

"I'm waiting," JJ drawls. 

Arthur coughs a little, like the laughing is physically painful. Which I'm sure it is- laughing that hard for that long all the time must hurt. He stays there, doubled over, for a moment, and then straightens up. Takes a breath. 

"I-" a breath, "Ha-hated school as a kid," he starts, and I wince. "My mother would say-" and he adopts a voice like an old woman, "'You should enjoy it, one day you'll have to _work_ for a living!'" I duck my head. This is going incredibly badly. "No I won't, Ma, I'm going to be a comedian!" and he starts to laugh again. He's got a notebook in his hand, and when he turns the page you can see for a second a fucking _cutout_ from a porn magazine. 

"What the fuck," Allison whispers. JJ's just got a hand over his mouth. Nobody's drinking now. 

Arthur continues to tell jokes, and maybe if he had some confidence (and _maybe not a laughing condition_ , a mean part of my brain supplies) they'd go over well. But they don't, they really do not, and polite applause is all he gets at the end. Polite clapping and some muttering among the other people in the club. 

"Does somebody want to explain what that _was_!" JJ exclaims afterwards. 

"He's got a condition," I say quietly. "A laughing thing. Caused by brain injury or somethin'." 

"Jesus. I hope the next guy's funny, because now I'm just feeling a shit ton of pity," he replies, and walks away to introduce the next comic. 

I just shake my head and take another long drink. I have a feeling I'm going to need it. I look over at Allison and make my decision. As if I had any other option, really. 

"Hang on. I'll be right back," I say, and follow a comic backstage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro i legit almost cried through the whole movie, but this scene especially. the mental health system is garbage and arthur is babie.


	6. yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this story is slowly killing me. four more chapters, baby, and the rest of the movie to go! prepare for slower updates, mostly because i'll have to fit more plot into less chapters, making- take a wild guess- longer chapters! 
> 
> anyway, i'm hella excited to finish this! i am notoriously bad at finishing things, especially writing projects, so the fact that i'm more than halfway done with this one gives me hope for the future. i don't know why i'm getting sentimental in the chapter notes. i appreciate all of you who have read this and yo, those of you who have COMMENTED?? killing it. y'all are killing it. i love feedback and PLEASE go on rants about this (or anything really) in my comments. i crave interaction.

I catch up to Arthur before he leaves the club through the backstage door. My conflicting feelings do nothing to calm me down- by the time I reach him, my stomach is in a whirl of confusion, concern and maybe a little bit of nausea. 

"Art!" I call, skidding to a stop close behind him. He turns around, and his expression is blank. It stops me straight in my tracks, and derails my train of thought completely. "Hey. I saw you up there, are you okay?" 

He clears his throat quickly, "Yeah. I'm fine. I, uh, I saw _you_ up there, it was really good." 

I lean against the wall ever so slightly. "Thanks. But like- seriously. You're okay, right?" 

"Yeah," he repeats. "Why did you come looking for me?" 

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "'Cause I wanted to make sure you're good," I say, trying not to sound too incredulous. "But look, if you're fine, that's great." I fidget with the hem of my shirt and don't meet his eyes. All of this is slowly starting to spin out of my control, and I'm not sure how to reclaim it. 

"Are you upset with me?" 

Arthur's question comes as a little bit of a shocker, and I'm not prepared at all for the bluntness of it. 

"About what?" I say, confused. 

"About..." he looks down and then back up again- "I kissed you." 

"I know." 

"You kissed me back," he says. 

"Yeah." I nod. 

"Is that what you're upset about?" 

I laugh ruefully. "I'm not upset." 

"You are," Arthur insists. 

"I don't know, okay?" I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes. "I don't know." And I open my eyes to find Arthur moving closer to me than before. I watch him, eyes half-closed. 

"Is that weird?" he asks quietly. "Friends don't do that, do they?" 

I shake my head, laughing again. "Don't think so. I don't mind, though." 

"So you wouldn't mind if I...?" 

"Not really," I find myself whispering, and he leans in and kisses me again.

It's a chaste, sweet thing- he's inexperienced and it shows. But I don't mind, just letting him figure it out as we go. He pulls back a few short moments later, and we're just as we were a few hours ago- pressed close together, eyes locked. The dimly lit hallway makes Arthur's eyes look darker. 

"I have an idea," I say quietly, and push myself off the wall. I cup his face with my hands and almost stand on my tip-toes to initiate another kiss. He stays perfectly still for just a second before letting out a tiny noise, a little gasp. I take advantage of his mouth being open for that split second and deepen the kiss, tongue gently slipping into his mouth. He stills again, but lets me in anyway. He gets into it though, and it's a sloppy, completely uncoordinated kiss. I feel his hands drift to my hips, fingertips digging in.

I'm the first to break away this time, and I grin as his grip tightens a little on me. 

"Relax," I grin lazily. "That was good. You were good." 

"I should go," he mumbles. "I have work tomorrow."

"You probably should," I concede, kissing him quickly with a smile. He looks a little taken aback, but smiles sweetly anyway and whispers a goodnight before pushing the door open and leaving. I walk back into the club, meeting back up with Allison and JJ. I deflect any questions they ask, but as I finish my beer and watch the comics onstage, I'm sure I've got a satisfied smirk on my face the whole time. 

A few days pass after that, and I don't see Arthur. I probably should have given him my number or something. I'm two days into not seeing him and I decide to go downtown at nine o'clock at night and try to get him off my brain. I walk up and down those streets for about half an hour before I realize what exactly I'm doing. This is supposed to get my mind _off_ Arthur, not give myself a reason to continue to imagine scenarios where I get to kiss him for way longer than we did at Pogo's. 

I start to think a little. I like Arthur. Really. I want to keep doing this friends-that-kiss thing. But I have a sinking feeling that something is going to go wrong. 

And I am proved right. 

When I get home from prowling Gotham for two hours, it's dark and Devin's already home. Which is strange, because he's almost never home before midnight. But it's eleven, and he's sitting in front of our tiny television, expression dark. 

"What're you doin' home?" I ask, shedding my jacket at the door. 

"Have you seen this?" he demands, standing so I can look over the sofa and see the screen. _Vigilante Clown Shoots_ _Three on Subway_ is the main headline. And don't get me wrong- shootings happen all the time in Gotham. But this- this is _Wayne Enterprises_. Nobody really fucks with the Waynes, shit, half the city thinks Thomas Wayne's going to save Gotham if we elect him mayor. I haven't been paying much attention to his campaign, so I can't really say whether or not they're right. 

"A vigilante _clown_?" 

"Apparently he was wearing a mask," Devin says. 

"Well shit," I say succinctly. 

"And as a result," he adds, flipping the channel. "Riots are breaking out against Wayne Enterprises, and just rich people in general."

"Serves 'em right, I think." I shrug, sitting down next to him. He shoots me a look. "What? None of 'em care about us. They sit on their asses in their fancy buildings while we starve and end up homeless on the streets. You can't tell me they actually _give_ a damn." 

"Don't tell me you're _sympathizing_ with this guy," he sighs. 

"I don't know, man." I lean back against the cushions and close my eyes. "'M startin' to think the people who still think Gotham can be saved are just crazy." 

"Yeah," Devin whispers. "I just think it's fucking crazy." He sighs. "Clown vigilante. Jesus." 

We don't get much sleep that night. Devin watches the news like it'll tell us something new while I pull two beers out of the fridge for us. I don't want to leave him alone like this, so I settle on the couch, and that's where we stay for most of the night. 

The next morning is eventful, because about an hour after Devin leaves for work there's a banging on my door that wakes me up. 

"What the..." I mumble, pulling on a random t-shirt and running a hand through my hair. I walk into the living room and open the door. It's Arthur. "Um-" I start. 

"Hey," he says tentatively, and he looks like a trainwreck. His eyes have bags under them and he just looks _off_ in a way that gets me on edge. 

"Arthur," I lean against the door frame and wrap my arms around my body in a sad attempt to keep warm in the cold hallway. "How'd you find my place?" 

"I asked the MC at Pogo's," he says apologetically. "He didn't know, but he knew your roommate, and got your address for me." 

"Resourceful," I shrug. "You should come in." 

He nods and I stand aside to let him in. Our apartment's small, but it's our home, and it definitely looks... lived in. Beer bottles from last night lie on the coffee table, my hoodie is dumped on the chair next to the doorway. My room and Devin's aren't even in sight, off to the side of the place. I look around, a little self-conscious. But Arthur doesn't seem to care, he just looks around and then turns back to me. 

"So..." I trail off, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand. I haven't even had my coffee yet, I'm not prepared. 

"I- um. So I got fired," Arthur says. 

"'M sorry, man," I say apologetically. "What happened?" 

"One of my coworkers," he swallows. "He gave me a gun after I got jumped." 

"Yeah," I nod. 

"So I was doing my act at a children's hospital," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And it fell out of my pocket." 

I look up, shocked. "The hell did you bring it to a _hospital_ for?" 

"I didn't have anywhere else to put it," Arthur says. 

"You got an apartment, don't ya?" I say, but let it go. 

"Social service got their funding cut, so I'm off my meds," he says. 

"You jokin'?" I stand up quickly. Devin's on anti-depressants. No wonder he stayed up all night doom-watching the news. No wonder he's seemed off. Without his medication his mental health spirals incredibly quickly. 

"Do you-" he starts. 

"Devin's on somethin'," I say. "Wait a second, will ya?" I go into his room and take a look at the nightstand, and yeah, there it is- an empty bottle of Zoloft. I pick it up and look at the label. He'd taken the last one two days ago, by the looks of it. This is not good. 

I walk back out to the living room and sit down again, making a mental note to figure out how to get Devin back on medication. I nod at Arthur to keep talking. 

"Did you hear about the clown murderer?" he asks suddenly, changing tacks. 

"Yeah," I nod. "Dev and I watched the news. Fuckin' crazy, man." 

"Thatwasme," he says very quickly and very quietly. 

I straighten up. "What?" 

"That. Was me," he says, fingers fidgeting again. He won't meet my eyes. 

"This is a shitty joke," I try to laugh, but I'm desperately grasping at straws here. Is he kidding? What is this? 

"It's not a joke," he says. "Those three Wall Street type guys on the train? I killed them. I was the one that shot them." And I look up at him and realize he's dead serious (pardon my unintended pun). 

"What the fuck." 

"Mars-" 

"Take a step back," I say, standing up, suddenly alert. I back up so the length of the couch is between us. Arthur makes a move like he's going to try and come closer, but I put out a hand. "And stay there." I close my eyes to try and calm myself down. 

"You're angry." 

"That's some A+ detective work," I snarl. 

"Why?" Arthur whispers, and my eyes fly open. 

"What the hell do you mean _why_?" I demand. "You killed three people! They showed the security footage, did you know that? I saw you go after the last one and shoot him three times while he was tryin' to escape, with a bullet already in his leg! I _saw_ you, Arthur!" 

"They were beating me up, I-" 

"Three times. While he was trying to run. With a bullet in his leg," I repeat slowly. "It didn't look like he was beatin' you up then." 

"They were, before," he protests. "I thought they were going to kill me." 

"Well, ya fixed that, didn't ya," I laugh ruefully, no trace of humor in my voice. My accent thickens in fear and anger. 

"He deserved it." 

"So why're you here?" I flare up. "Are ya gonna kill me? Is that what this is?" 

Arthur steps back in shock. "No! I would never-" 

"But how do I know that? How do I know ya won't snap one day and pull a gun on me?" 

"I wouldn't," he insists. 

"Wouldn't ya?" I ask. I'm shaking, every muscle in me tensed. At least he's on the other side of the room. "Look, Wayne Enterprises don't give two shits about people on the streets. But that don't justify nothin'!" 

"They were- I have the bruises!" Arthur exclaims, pulling up his shirt. He's right, there's only one that I can see, but he's right. It's a deep purple and looks painful. 

"You shot them!" I retort. 

"They deserved it," he says, and his voice is lower, darker. If this weren't the current situation I might think it was hot. 

"Get out," I snarl. 

Silence. 

"The fuck are you waitin' for, huh? Somebody to open the damn door? Go!" I'm like a hissing cat backed into a corner. He looks down at his shoes, face perfectly still. And then he gets up and walks out, closing the door quietly behind him. 

I sit back down on the couch, putting my head in my hands. I look up after a moment and turn on the television for background noise, but it doesn't do shit to drown out the thoughts whirling in my head. 

_What the hell is happening? And what am I supposed to do about it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo i'm having a bit of a conundrum about sophie. arthur hallucinates her in the movie, but if mars is the love interest, then why is arthur hallucinating sophie, you know? might decide to have him hallucinate her anyway, mostly because other, later scenes cement how much him realizing his interactions with her weren't real affected him. way negatively. i sort of- you know what? if i keep typing i'll be spoiling the rest of the story, and we can't have that, can we? anyway, next chapter's up soon, y'all know how this works. 
> 
> leave a comment/kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	7. viva la vida

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three chapters, baby. three! can you believe it? a finished story? nah, couldn't have been written by me. 
> 
> anyway, things went down in the last chapter so now we're just having a lovely time with character development. 
> 
> the songs mars plays at Pogo's this time (still in order):   
> attention - charlie puth   
> bad things - machine gun kelly & camila cabello

I get a call from JJ later. 

I've done practically nothing, just apathetically watching the news and not really paying attention. I'm stuck between Arthur, and whatever just happened with him and Devin, and why on earth he didn't tell me about social services shutting down. I don't even know how long I've been sitting here. 

While I'm on the topic of the Arthur problem, it seems like I have two options here. I can continue being his friend and try to forget that he killed three guys and said they deserved it, or I can run for the hills, ditch him completely. And it's unfair, really. It kind of pisses me off that the one time I find a guy that I like and that seems to like me and _isn't_ a total asshole ends up being a killer. And so I guess the _real_ decision is, do I hold it against him or not?

None of those options make me feel totally at ease. 

But back to JJ. He calls and asks if I can play again tonight, that Allison will be around and wanted to see if I could duet with her again. I agree, because if I stay shut inside for any longer I'm going to lose it. Same set-up as last time, I get a solo song and then the duet, which is fine by me. I tell him I'll be there, and he gives me a time. 

I scroll through my music to look for a different song to try tonight. It's a newer song, one by this relatively new pop singer, Charlie Puth. I've been tinkering with it a little, playing with it for the past week, so I decide tonight is going to be it's debut on my set list. 

I get dressed first in my standard- black jeans, boots. I pull on a white t-shirt and a black denim jacket and fix my hair before sitting down at my keyboard. I spend at least two hours ingraining the melody in my mind, singing it through over and over. I only stop so I don't blow out my voice before tonight. The show's at 8, and it's 1:30 already. I need to find something to do. I gotta kill time until the show, and when I get back, chances are Devin will be home and we can figure something out then. 

_Devin._

Do I even tell him about Arthur's visit? What he told me? 

See, this is why I need to leave the apartment. I'll decide later.

I pull a beanie on, grab my phone and walk out the door. I'm on the streets of Gotham before I know it, the heavy bass-line of a hard rock song I'd randomly chosen thrumming in my ears. And I just walk, not entirely sure of where I'm going or what I'm doing. 

I realize I haven't had anything to eat today, so I duck into a cafe and get a sandwich and a coffee. My phone starts to buzz in my pocket as I walk out, so I transfer my sandwich to my pocket and look at the screen. Unknown, but this day couldn't get any worse, so I pick up. 

"Hello?" 

"Mars!" It's Allison. I find myself smiling slightly. 

"Hey, Allison, what's up?" 

"Not much," she says. "Our show's at 8, yeah?" 

"Yeah," I answer. 

"So do you want to hang out before then?" she asks. "All my friends are busy, and it was really nice chilling with you after our last gig." 

I laugh. "Sure, that sounds good." She rattles off her address. I nod, remember that she can't see me, and tell her I'll be there. She's not far away, on the outskirts of Midtown, so it's an easy walk. 

"Apartment 6A," I mumble as I get out of the elevator on the 6th floor. I knock on the door when I find it, the first door on the left. 

She opens it with a beaming smile, her hair in a loose bun, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a dark grey Nirvana t-shirt. 

"Hey!" 

"Hi," I grin. "So what're we doin'?" 

Allison invites me in, and we talk a little about how we got to be performing at comedy clubs in Gotham. She wants to be a dancer, but she likes to sing as well. This leads to talking about our different tastes in music, and we end up singing bad karaoke. We laugh at our sad attempts to hit high notes in songs we know we can't sing. The topic of conversation shifts later, as I should have figured it would, to Arthur, and how I knew him at Pogo's. My stomach erupts into butterflies of anxiety. 

"It's a long story," I say. 

"We have time," she shrugs. 

"You aren't going to let this go, are ya," I deadpan. Allison shakes her head gleefully. 

"Spill," she orders, and I... do. I tell her about our meeting on the bus, seeing my old coworkers again at Ha-Ha's, the multiple kisses, and Pogo's. 

"And that's it," I say, deliberately keeping his visit this morning to myself. 

"Is it?" she asks, taking a sip of her water. "You look off. I don't think that's all." 

"You gotta be psychic or somethin'," I mutter. She just giggles. "Fine." And I lay it all out, _all_ of it this time, from what Arthur had said about his meds to the admission that he'd killed three men on the subway. Her hands are over her mouth, eyes wide when I finish. 

"Did he prove it?" is the first thing she asks when she moves her hands and recovers from the shock. "Did he have proof that he did it?" 

"Are you sayin' he's lying?" I ask. 

"Maybe!" she exclaims. "I hope he's lying. I really hope, for your sake and his, that he's lying. You said he was off his meds?" 

"Yeah," I nod. "I don't know what they're for, maybe it's for the laughin', but-" 

"Then maybe that's why he's saying this," Allison says. "I don't know. I'm just trying to find reasons that he didn't do it, man."

"He doesn't seem like the lying type." I muse.

"Jesus, dude," she sits back on the sofa. "If he snaps and kills you, it was nice knowing you, you know?" 

The joke falls flat and we both know it, but I laugh, the sound empty and forced anyway. 

"Yeah." 

After another hour or so, I go into the bathroom to fix my hair for the show. Allison's in her room getting dressed, and I just take a second to look at myself in the mirror. _What am I doing with my life?_

But now is not the time for identity crises. We have a show to get to in thirty. I open the bathroom door to see Allison wrangling her thick hair into the same high ponytail she had it in last time. She's wearing a short, glittery purple cocktail dress and black heels. 

"I feel under-dressed," I comment as she finishes and puts on earrings. 

She turns and smiles at me. "I can see if I've got anything you can put on." 

"As long as it's not one'a those," I point at the dress and grin, "That'd be great." 

Allison giggles. "But you'd look good in a dress." 

"I'm sure," I drawl. "But I'm sure as hell not walking into _Pogo's_ in a dress." 

She rolls her eyes. "I'll get you in a dress at some point." 

"Sure," I nod, and she swats at me before going into her closet and looking through hangers for things. And about fifteen minutes later, I'm decked out in a glittery, cropped jacket that's the same color as Allison's dress and my shirt, jeans and boots. What's even better is that she's got her makeup stuff out and is putting a tiny bit of silver glitter on my cheekbone, right above where she's highlighted it. 

"Whoa, shit," I mumble as she lets me stand up, admiring myself in her mirror. "I look... _awesome_." I turn around as she makes an attempt to fluff my hair. 

"No beanies for you," she grins. "And you can thank me later by not fucking up our duet. Come on, we gotta go." I just shake my head, smiling, grab my phone, and follow her out the door. 

Allison's managed to convince her neighbor to lend us his car, since apparently Allison's dress is "too pretty for public transportation". And yeah, you bet I'll be holding that over her head forever now. We put on some Rihanna song in the car and sing along loudly and obnoxiously. We pull up, Allison touches up her lip gloss (there is literally nothing wrong with it but she insists) and we walk in. 

The first thing I hear is JJ yelling, calling me gay really loudly. I grin and shove him lightly. 

"You better not get anythin' on this jacket," I say, faking a stern voice and expression. JJ replies by pretending to flick the ash off the butt of his cigarette on it. Allison comes back up to us; she'd been off saying hi to a few people in the audience she knew. JJ looks at the two of us, eyes playfully narrowed. 

"This some matchy-matchy couple shit I wasn't invited to?" he asks, eyebrow quirked. Allison giggles. 

"'Couple' implies two, and it implies that we're together, which we're not," she answers. 

" _I_ could'a told you you weren't together," the other man smirks. "Mars here is about as gay as it gets-" 

"You're just mad that I'm prettier'n you-" I cut him off. 

"Oh, shut up," JJ starts complaining, but Allison points to the stage where one comic is getting off, and signaling JJ to introduce us. "Shit. Well, you guys, go kill it up there. Charlie'll be real happy if you rake in as many good reviews as last time. People have been asking for you guys, you know." 

Allison and I exchange a swift glance. We're that popular? I just laugh and walk onstage when JJ announces me. I get more applause than before, and I hear a whoop from someone in the back. 

"Thank you," I say into the mic, and grin as more people clap. "Thanks so much for havin' me. Well, _us,_ really," and I point to Allison in the back of the place. I hear a couple guys catcall. "Alright, this song is called _Attention_."

I play the hook, a couple simple notes in a quick melody. I start the first verse, and when I start the pre-chorus, I add the lower parts, which harmonize with the words. We rock out to the choruses, and the exaggerated bridge, and I finish the song with a little vocal run that has people clapping like mad. 

"And now, for the duet some of you have been waitin' for," I say slyly into the mic. Allison walks onstage, all slinky and confident. 

"This one is called Bad Things," she winks. 

She sings the hook really well. I take the first verse and she launches into the chorus, with me backing her up occasionally. The bridge is where the atmosphere shifts, and the duet _really_ kicks in. 

" _The way we love, is so unique_ ," she croons, " _And when we touch, I'm shivering. And no one has to get it, just you and me._ "

"Why?" I drawl, voice low and delibrately hoarse. 

" _'Cause we're just living between the sheets,_ " she finishes. And with another go-round of the chorus, we close the song and the duet gets a standing ovation. Just like last time. 

As we walk offstage, JJ catches us before he goes on to thank us and introduce a guy to the stage. 

"Well, god _damn_ ," he crows. "Hey Mars, maybe I was wrong about you being gay, huh? Got a lil' freak in you, don'tcha?" he punches my shoulder. 

"Oh, shut up," I grin. "Thanks though." 

We hang around the place for another hour before Allison turns to me and apologetically says she's got to return the car. I nod, agreeing easily. But when we walk out into the dark parking lot, we're met with a oh-so- _lovely_ surprise. 

Two guys, a thin one about as tall as me, and a burlier dude behind him. And the first one's grinning like the Cheshire cat, like he knows something we don't. 

"Look what we got here. The stars of the show." 

"Thanks," I say cautiously, shooting Allison a glance. She sees it too, but her expression doesn't change from being politely amused. 

"Wonder what your mama would say if she knew she'd raised a fuckin' _fairy_ ," he spits the slur at me, and I try desperately to keep my rage down. 

"Well, surprise surprise," I say, voice low. "My mama didn't raise me." 

And that's when he lunges at me, his fist hitting me dead in the face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha >:)
> 
> leave comments/kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	8. violet hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters, baby. two. TWO! what?? don't worry, if you are. you'll like the ending. maybe. did i mention this was canon-compliant? oops. 
> 
> well, this is something. y'all thought the conflict had arrived? IT HAS NOT.

I go crashing to the ground, not expecting the attack at _all_. The guy tries to kick me while I'm literally down but Allison takes off her heel and clocks him with it. He yells in anger, and the bigger guy just takes off, running off into the shadows. The first guy yells something at him, probably a curse, glares at me, and follows. 

"What the fuck was _that_?" I groan, standing shakily and pressing a hand to my cheek. I wince. That's going to be a nasty bruise. 

"Maybe they didn't like the jacket," Allison says, still standing with her high heel in hand, looking pissed. 

"They weren't wrong," I mumble. "I'm that gay, huh?" 

"We should go," she doesn't respond to the question. "And maybe get your cheek looked at. It's bleeding." 

"It is?" I say. I pull my hand away and look- there's a little bit of blood smeared on my hand now. "It's not bad, I don't think-" 

"We're going," she insists, grabbing my hand and dragging me towards the car. 

"Okay," I say quietly. She's angry. I've been punched before, but never for this- mostly because not a lot of people know about it. "Okay." 

We pull up in front of Gotham General in about fifteen minutes, the silence in the car tense. I ditch the jacket, opting to brave the cold Gotham night in a t-shirt. I'm not about to be punched again.

On the bench outside is a guy, and he looks familiar. I catch my breath. It's Arthur. What is he doing at a hospital? 

"Hang on," I say to Allison, and she nods, leaning against the car while I walk over and sit down next to Arthur. He takes a look at me, looks away, and then looks back sharply, as if he can't believe that I'm here. 

"Mars?" he asks. 

"Hey," I try to smile, but it tugs at the edge of the bruise painfully, so I drop it. 

"What happened to your face?" he whispers, reaching up to rub his thumb ever so gently across the cut and its accompanying bruise. I let my eyelids flutter shut at his touch, even though after what he's told me, I shouldn't want it. I shouldn't want it at all. 

"Some guy punched me," I shrug, opening my eyes. "It's gonna be one hell of a shiner, huh?" 

"Why?" 

"He called me a fairy and punched me, so maybe it was that," I say in a deadpan. "Why are _you_ here? Are you okay?" 

Arthur drops his hand. "It's my mother. She... she had a stroke." 

"Oh shit," I whisper, moving a little closer, my shoulder pressed up against his. "I'm sorry. Is she... is she okay?" 

"She's not dead," he says with a wry smile. 

"I'm sorry," I apologize again. I don't know how it must feel. Something like that's never happened to me. But I can only imagine, and what I imagine it like is awful. I direct my gaze to the ground, ignoring how I can feel Allison watching us from the street. That's when I notice two guys in suits walking up to us.

"Which one of you is Arthur Fleck?" One asks, looking at the two of us. Arthur just nods. 

"Mr. Fleck," the second addresses him. "Sorry to bother you, I’m Detective Garrity, this is my partner Detective Burke." Arthur says nothing, but I nod to them in understanding. I see Allison walk over, to stand just behind the bench, over my shoulder. 

Burke looks at the two of us. "Do you know Mr. Fleck?" 

"You could just ask him, he's right there," Allison says, voice low. 

"Yes," I say, shooting Allison a look. _Don't say anything._

"Your names, please?" 

"What's going on?" Arthur interrupts. 

"We had a few questions for you, but you weren’t home. So we spoke to your mother," Garrity says. 

"What did you say to her?" he sits up, leans forward, alert. "Did you do this?" 

"What? No. We just asked her some questions and she started getting hysterical. Hyperventilating, trouble speaking- then she collapsed. Hit her head pretty hard."

"Yeah, the doctor said she had a stroke," Arthur says. He's tense, and I just press my shoulder in harder for a beat, to try and calm him a little. 

There's a beat of silence. "Sorry to hear about that. But like I said, we still have some questions for you. They're about the subway killings that happened last week. You've heard about them, right?" Garrity asks. 

"Yeah. It's horrible," Arthur says, and I very pointedly don't look at Allison. I just look, concerned, at Arthur like I'm worried about the killings. When the killer is right next to me. 

"Right. So we spoke to your boss at- uh, Ha-Ha's. He said you were fired that day- fired for bringing a gun into the children's hospital." I silently beg Allison not to say anything. I'd skimmed over this part. 

"He also mentioned you seemed to have a close friend who had previously worked there," The other detective, Burke, says bluntly. "One _Mars Carson_." 

"That'd be me," I say, trying to keep my voice level. 

"You were seen with Mr. Fleck here days before the killings," Garrity asks, but it's more of a statement. I nod. 

"I think you're asking me the questions here," Arthur says, a little sharply. I look over in surprise. "The gun. It was a prop. It's part of my act. I'm a party clown." 

"All right. So why were you fired?" Burke asks, rather accusingly. 

"They said I wasn’t funny enough," Arthur laughs dryly. "Can you imagine that?" He stands. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to go take care of my mother." The detectives exchange a look, and I stand too. 

"Your boss also gave us one of your cards," Burke says, rather uncomfortably. "This condition of yours, the laughing, is it real or some sort of a clown thing?" I tense, anger bubbling to the surface. What the fuck. 

"A _clown_ thing?" Arthur repeats, looking incredulous. Allison places a hand on my shoulder like she can read my thoughts. 

"Yeah, I mean- is it part of your act?" Burke asks. 

"What do _you_ think?" he sneers, and walks away. The detectives turn to me. 

"I got nothin' to do with the subway killings," I say quickly, tersely. "And neither does he." I storm away, towards the door Arthur went through. Allison follows, heels clacking on the concrete sidewalk. 

"What the fuck?" she hisses. "A _gun_? In a _children's_ hospital? Has he lost his mind?" 

"Look, it's a long story-" I try to explain. 

"And you'll be telling me all of it when we get out of here," she says. 

"Fine," I sigh. "I should make sure he's okay, though-" 

"No," Allison whispers angrily, grabbing my arm and stopping me from going up to the front desk. "Mars- they asked about you out there. You're in too deep on this one. I promise you, you are." 

"It's not his fault," I protest. 

"Yes it _is_!" She insists. "All of what's happened to him sucks, of course it does! But you are trying to forget that he is a _killer_! If they find out that he _did_ do it, they'll come after you too. You're his only friend, don't say you're not, so who's to say he didn't tell you what he was going to do before he did it?" 

"He didn't _know_ that he'd be shooting three Wayne Enterprises assholes that night," I argue. 

"But nobody will believe that," she stresses. "I'm worried, Mars, I really am. I don't think you're seeing the bigger picture!" 

"I am," I growl. "Or I'm tryin', at least! If I wasn't, if I was just tryin' to see what I wanted to, why would I have kicked him outta my apartment this mornin', huh?" 

"That is a _low_ bar," Allison rolls her eyes. 

"I am _not_ lettin' him be alone right now," I say, an air of finality in my voice. "His mother just had a _stroke_ , for God's sake. Come or don't." I walk up to the front desk. "What room is Penny Fleck in?" 

The nurse at the desk looks up, looking bored. "Are you family?" 

"I'm her son's fiance," I lie, and she buys it. 

"172. Elevator's to the left." I thank her, and Allison follows after me, bullshitting to the nurse about being my sister. 

There's silence in the elevator. 

"Look, I might have been a bit harsh back there," Allison finally says. "But I'm worried. You and I, we both know he did it now. Nobody should know. He shouldn't have told you. It puts you in danger." 

"I didn't know until after he did it," I say as we get off. 

"I know," she says quietly. 

"I love him," I stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A nurse frowns as he goes around us. 

"I know," Allison says, and her gaze is sad. 

"We should go in," I mumble, and I push open the door to 172 ever so gently. It's dark, the lights dim. Arthur sits in a plastic chair by his mother's side. She's a frail, wrinkled, pale woman. The TV's on- it's playing the Murray Franklin Show. It's a comedy late-night show, one that Devin occasionally watches. My heart sinks at the thought of my best friend. What am I going to do? 

_One problem at a time._

"Hey," I whisper. Arthur's eyes widen, but he doesn't protest, so Allison positions herself by the door. I sit in one of the plastic chairs beside him. 

"How'd you get up here?" he asks quietly. 

"I told the nurse down there I was your fiance," I say, smothering a yawn with a nonchalance I don't feel inside. "Allison's my sister now, apparently," I jerk my thumb towards her. 

She nods at Arthur. "Nice to meet you," she says, even though he hasn't told her his name. "Mars talks about you a lot." I flush. But the look she sends me says that she gets it, even if she doesn't like it. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I roll my eyes and focus on the small television. "What's he on about?" I ask. 

"His monologue," Arthur says, and I glance over at him quickly. He's captivated, and of course he is. Murray Franklin is a damn good comedian, even if he's not really my style. I turn to watch. 

"So I told my youngest son, Billy, you know, the new one, the 'not so bright' one,-" Franklin starts, and the audience laughs, "I told him that the garbage strike is still going on. And he says, and I'm not kidding, Billy says, 'So where are we gonna get all our garbage from?'" I giggle a little. Arthur does too, looking over at his mother like he's afraid he'll wake her up (not a chance, really, she's out cold), then back to the TV. 

"And finally, in a world where everyone thinks they could do my job, we got this videotape from the Gotham Comedy Club. Here's a guy who thinks if you just keep laughing, t'll somehow make you funny. Check out this joker," the older man says, and a grainy video from- oh shit. 

I exchange a look with Allison- she's trying to hide her wince. It's _Arthur._ It's a video someone must have taken of his stand-up at Pogo's a few nights ago. None of us say anything for a moment as we watch the clip. 

"What the fuck." I whisper, not expecting an answer.

" _No I won't, Ma,_ " the Arthur on-screen says through hitching laughter. " _I'm gonna be a comedian!_ " 

"You should have listened to your mother," Murray Franklin says, shaking his head as the cameras cut back to him trying not to laugh. The studio audience starts laughing and clapping. "One more, Bobby. Let's see one more. I love this guy." It cuts to a part of the routine later on. 

"It's funny, when I was a little boy and told people I wanted to be a comedian, everyone laughed at me," Arthur from the clip says, opening his arms. "Well, no one's laughing now." 

And it's dead silence. 

Legitimately, no one _is_ laughing. 

"You can say that again, pal!" Murray crows, dissolving into laughter. The studio audience follows suit, roaring along with him.

"What is this?" Allison whispers. She's just as wide-eyed and angry as I am. 

"Hang on, hang on," I say, picking up the remote from where it lies next to Arthur on the chair. I aim it at the television and press mute, putting it back down, and turning around to face everyone else. "What in the hell was _that_?" It's more of a rhetorical question, demanding who thought it was okay for Murray Franklin to pick him apart on live TV. Allison shakes her head. 

"I'm sorry," she says to Arthur. He's not even looking at her, he's standing up and walking towards the TV. He's watching the muted show as it switches topics, then into a commercial break. There's a long, long silence. 

"Look, I'm going to go get water, I'll be right back," she says, glancing over at us and walking out of the room. 

"I'm sorry," I whisper as well, not wanting to turn around and see Murray Franklin, whose face I kind of want to beat in at the moment. 

"You don't have to do this." he whispers it, so quiet I can barely hear. 

"What?" I say, not sure I heard him right. 

"You don't have to do this," he repeats, just a little louder, turning to face me. "You don't have to be here. Pretend to be my friend." 

"I _am_ your friend," I say firmly. 

"Didn't seem like it this morning," he retorts. 

"Well, you could warn a guy before you tell 'im you killed three people," I shrug, trying to make light of it. 

"But you don't have to drag this out, okay?" Arthur snaps. "You don't have to keep pretending like you're my friend." 

"Is this about what I said this morning?" I ask, confused and a little angry. "Because I'd argue that was justified." 

"It's _all_ of this!" he protests. "It's kissing me-" 

"I kissed you all of _one_ _time_ ," I roll my eyes. "You kissed me twice, as I recall, so don't even." 

"It's that and- everything else!" he persisted. "Acting so happy when I'm with you. Saying I'm funny. All of this." 

"What d'you want me to do?" I ask angrily, trying to keep my voice down. "Cut you off completely?" 

"Stop _pretending_ with me!" 

"I'm not!" 

"You are!" Arthur exclaims, grasping my upper arms, holding me in place. "You are, you were just being nice at first, and now you're- what? Trying to drag this out so when you finally drop me and leave me in the gutter it hurts worse than it would have?" 

"You really think that little of me, huh," I say quietly, looking into his green, now hazel-looking eyes. "That I pretended to be your friend. That everythin' I did for you was just so I could throw ya away and make it sting." 

"Yes." 

My emotions shift from sadness and concern to self-righteous anger. "You don't know me at all, then," I spit, ripping away from him. His eyes widen in shock. "When have I ever, _ever_ done anythin' to make you think that I don't care about you? When have I ever said anythin' like that? I _haven't._ " 

He stays silent. 

"That's what I fuckin' thought," I say angrily. "Fuck you, Arthur. Seriously. This whole damn time someone's in love with your ass and you tell 'em they're lyin'." I stalk over to the door, opening it to see Allison about to push it and walk in. "We're leaving." 

She doesn't ask questions, just walks in, leaves the cup of water on the table by Arthur's mother's bed, and walks out. I don't even look back, following her out and into the cold Gotham night air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave comments/kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	9. strawberry swing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT!
> 
> literally the ninth chapter. are you kidding me rn. it's emotional, y'all. it's kinda crazy. i think you'll like it though. one more chapter and we're done, and that's crazy to me. absolutely wild. 
> 
> QUICK THINGS: we have sophie in this chapter! she's here in a bit of a roundabout way, but she's here. we also might have moved some events around, but otherwise, we are fully canon compliant here! sort of! in the end! everything still happens like it's supposed to!

It's been a few days. 

The night Allison and I left the hospital, it had been almost midnight, and she dropped me off at my apartment building in silence. I don't think either of us knew what to say. When I got inside, I spilled to Devin- everything, and then forced him to own up about the antidepressants. I promised him we would work it out. I think I might have threatened to fight Thomas Wayne and the social services people. Who knows. I was exhausted, more than I really had any right to be. 

But it's been awhile. 

I saw Penny Fleck's tiny obituary in the paper yesterday. It described her as a loyal secretary for Wayne Enterprises for thirty years before retiring. It said she was survived by her only son, Arthur Fleck. I closed the paper. Not the time. Everything still felt fresh. _Feels_ fresh. Still, I hope Arthur's okay. 

And now? Now it's late at night and I'm sitting on the fire escape, looking out over Gotham. This city is a mess. I don't think Thomas Wayne can save it. I don't think anyone can. I think all you can do is _try_ to do it, maybe make the place a little better for it. But we'll always slide back into the shambles we made it. And now everything feels incredibly tense. The subway killings were just another step in the wrong direction. The entire city feels like a tight bowstring two seconds from snapping. And what happens when it does? 

Riots are starting to break out all over Gotham. People in clown masks, setting shit on fire, killing people, holding up signs screaming _fuck the rich_ , and honestly, I don't blame them. A few nights ago there was one at City Hall that was exceptionally crazy. The string has snapped, you know? They've started a movement, more power to the poor and, apparently, eating the rich. I kinda like it. The only reason Devin and I haven't joined in is because they're _riots,_ violent ones, and I don't feel like dying today. 

So I don't think about it. 

And I don't think about Arthur, either. Or at least I try not to. I take jobs and sing my heart out, smile like I'm delirious with joy, play love songs for new couples and wink at pretty girls in the audience. I don't think about how I wish it were us I was singing about, and I definitely don't dwell on how I'm absolutely miserable and can't do a damn thing about it. 

Until I get a text from Allison. We haven't talked, haven't seen each other or sang together since that night. I haven't even been back to Pogo's since. But she texts me, _can we talk?_ And then she sends _fuck it_ and then calls me.

"Hey," I say, picking up. 

"Mars," she says. "How are you? Haven't seen you in a bit." 

"No," I agree. "Been takin' other jobs, y'know?" 

"What happened at the hospital?" she asks. 

I sigh. "It's complicated." 

"This whole thing is complicated. You can explain." 

"Yeah, whatever," I laugh dryly. "He essentially accused me of pretendin' to be his friend to be a dick." 

"Oh shit," she says. 

"Yeah." 

"And you haven't seen him since?" she asks. 

"No," I reply. "His mother died, by the way- saw it in the paper." 

"That sucks," Allison says quietly. I just breathe. "Look," she sighs. "So I have a friend, her name is Sophie, right?" 

"Sure," I nod along, going back inside because it's getting cold on the fire escape. 

"She lives in Arthur's building." 

"Okay." 

"And... he's in her apartment." she says. 

"Okay," I say. "That supposed to be a bad thing?" 

"Yes," she says, rather shortly. "She doesn't know him. They had exactly one interaction and now he's _in her apartment_." 

"Holy fuck," I say succinctly. "Wait, why are you callin' _me_ about this? What do I have to do with this?" 

"You know him better than any of us!" Allison exclaims, albeit softer than I thought. "Why is he _there_?" 

"How the fuck should I know?" I shoot back. "Do you need me over there?" 

"I've been here for a while already," Allison says. "But yeah, you should come too. Sophie's freaked out. She hasn't talked to him, he hasn't seen her, but if this escalates-" 

"Goddamn you," I sigh, no real malice in my voice, although I would really, _really_ not like to deal with Arthur right now. Why am I his keeper, or whatever now? Why is this my job? 

Allison texts me the address and apartment number. I resignedly tell her and Sophie to stay where they are. Putting on my shoes and a jacket, I'm out the door with a quick word to Devin. I tell him a friend needs me, and that I'll be back soon. 

I practically run there, especially because, surprise surprise- it's fucking raining. Not just raining, it is a _downpour_ out there. I stop in front of it. It's Arthur's apartment building, I remember it from the day we met, walking here with him. I shake my head and put those memories out of my head. _Focus._ I skip the elevator- it looks run-down as hell, and I'm not about to get stuck in it. So I take the stairs. There are entirely too many of them, and I'm out of breath by the third floor. But I'm outside Sophie's apartment before I know it. I text Allison and she says the door's unlocked, so I open it quietly, cautiously, and slip inside. 

I make my way into the apartment. It's small, tiny really, and it's not much, but there's evidence of a little kid- Sophie has a kid. So this is more serious than I thought. I peek around the right corner into the living room and- there he is. Arthur, sitting, absolutely soaked, on her couch. 

"Arthur?" I ask, familiar tendrils of affection and concern working their way through the anger and confusion that's become the normal when I think about him. I fight the urge to physically shake the thought away and take a few steps closer. 

He turns, ever so slowly, to look at me like a lost child. Like he doesn't know me at all. His eyes look sad, weighed down and empathy for him hits me like a punch to the stomach. 

"What are you doing here?" I whisper. 

"I wanted to see-" Arthur starts and then stops. He's not going to be an issue for anyone. 

"Sophie. Yeah," I say, trying to not sound terse or jealous. Because I'm not jealous, I'm _not._ Thinking back, Arthur did say something about liking a girl in his apartment building. So I shouldn't even be surprised. I walk into the room just behind the couch, looking for Allison and Sophie. It's the master bedroom. I walk around to the opposite side of the bed, where they're hiding behind it. 

"Hey guys," I smile. Next to Allison is a pretty girl with curly black hair, a sweet face and darker skin, a little darker than milk chocolate. My heart sinks. Of course Arthur likes her. If I was straight I'd probably like her too. "He's fine. Well," I think and rephrase it. "Not _fine,_ necessarily. But he won't hurt either of you." 

"Thank you," Sophie whispers. "My little girl is sleeping in the other room and I..." she trails off. 

"I get it," I nod. "You can come out. If you want." Allison nods, turning and hugging Sophie. I walk out to the living room, where Arthur is trailing his fingers over the covers of a few random magazines on the coffee table. 

"Arthur. Hey," I say softly, placing a hand on his wet shoulder. "We should probably go. Sophie's daughter- we should let her sleep, you know?" 

"Yeah," he says, voice resigned. I look over his head at the two women standing in the doorway. Allison has her arm around Sophie's shoulders and Sophie's hand is over her mouth, still looking scared. He follows my gaze and his eyes go wide for a moment. Looking- _staring_ at Sophie and her reaction. And then he's standing, walking out of her apartment without a second look at any of us. 

"I should-" I say, jerking my thumb at the door. 

"Yeah," Allison says. "Thanks." 

"You're welcome," I nod, leaving the apartment and seeing Arthur walking towards his own, or what I'm assuming is his. I race to catch the door before it closes. He doesn't turn around. Doesn't seem to care. So I slip inside, closing the door quietly behind me. 

"Arthur?" I say, watching as he takes off his jacket, then starts pulling off his shirt. "Arthur." I cross the room and take his shirt from his hand, tossing it onto the couch behind us. "Slow down. Slow down, okay?" I grasp at his shoulders, turning him slightly to face me. He doesn't even meet my gaze as I step closer to get a better look. 

"Look at me, would ya?" I say softly, reaching up and moving strands of long wet hair out of his face. He looks sad- but it's so much _more_ than that. It's the face of someone who's given up completely. I'd know about it- I've seen it on too many people in Gotham. I've seen it in Devin. I've looked in the mirror and seen _myself_ wear that look. It scared me then. It scares me now. 

Arthur looks up at me after a moment. I smile softly, almost unable to resist. 

"There he is," I murmur, fingers leaving his hair and running lightly down his face. The anger I'd felt towards him before has dissipated. It's replaced by a tenderness that feels bone-deep, an desire to protect him, keep him safe. To tell him, officially, that I love him and to maybe, _maybe_ hear it back. Although I'm not expecting much. But suddenly, that doesn't seem to matter much. 

"What happened?" I ask quietly. "I- I saw your mother's obit in the paper. I'm sorry." 

He just shakes his head. "I... it was my fault." 

"She had a stroke," I say earnestly, "It wasn't anything you could have stopped." 

"She told me Thomas Wayne was..." he starts. "She said Thomas Wayne was my father. I never knew. And-" I let him talk. "I saw him. I asked him. He said she was delusional. I went to Arkham State." Arkham State Hospital for the insane. I nod. "Took her file. She adopted me," he starts to hiccup a little, and I loop one arm around his neck, pulling him closer. I stroke his cheek with my thumb with my other hand, hoping it will calm him a little. 

"She _adopted_ me. She was at Arkham. He was right, she was insane and-" Arthur lets out a shaky breath. "She was obsessed with Thomas Wayne and let her boyfriend-" 

I close my eyes and press closer. He's more receptive to it now, but his eyes remain tightly closed. His arms are around my waist, and I rest my head on his collarbone lightly. Just a little pressure, a little closeness. So he knows I'm here. 

"H-hit me," he says, voice small. "He- tied me to a radiator, I saw the pictures-" 

"Oh my god, Arthur," I whisper. 

"I-" and he takes a breath, a hitching one that has usually preceded laughing fits. I mumble comforting words, not exactly sure what I'm saying. I direct him to the couch, making him sit down. I sit next to him, and he takes the opportunity to keep us as close together as we were standing. He tucks his head into my neck and tries to swallow down his laughter. I rub his back and whisper that he has to, that getting it all out is important, that he can't bottle it up forever. 

And he laughs.

It's awhile before Arthur calms down. He's shaking with laughter, gagging on it in some places. I just rub his back and whisper to him, the same things I'd said before. That I'm here for him, that he's safe and that I care about him. But the laughs start to come slower, fewer and farther between, which is good. 

I get him up, walk him gingerly to the bathroom. We don't say much, and it's mostly me speaking, but that's okay. He dries off with a towel I hand him, and I get him into a sweater and some sweatpants. 

And that's when he says it. It hits me hard, just like everything he says to me nowadays. He's curled up on the bed, facing me as I sit beside him. 

He says, "So I-" a shuddering breath. "I killed her." 

"Your mother?" I whisper, and while one part of me says _good, she sounded like she had it coming_ , the other part is horrified. I'm not sure which to pick. I just nod and run my fingers through his wet hair until it's smooth and untangled. 

Arthur falls asleep a short while later. I wait, making sure he's actually asleep, and then I stand up. I walk out to the living room, surveying the small place as I go. And I open the door, slipping out of Arthur's apartment and closing it gently behind me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of want to start writing my emotional author's note about how much this story means to me and shit right now, but i'm not going to. you'll just have to wait for chapter 10 to hear my rambling!!
> 
> i do feel really bittersweet about these characters and what will happen to each of them, which is the only thing i'll say about what i'll say during the rambling. i really love them. and while i did lose a little bit of interest in the story towards the end (thanks adhd) i'm determined to finish and go out swinging!
> 
> leave comments/kudos, they give me ~ life ~


	10. death and all his friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. 
> 
> wow wow wow. 
> 
> that's about all i've got for this one my guy. i hope you like this, because it was fucking DIFFICULT to end. jesus h. i like how i did it though- the last few sentences are not only a reference to internet speculation about the movie, but are also a taylor swift reference. so. if you notice that *clicks tongue* tell me !!

My head is spinning with this new knowledge as I leave the building. The rain has stopped, so I don't have to run home. It gives me time to think. 

Arthur is a murderer. Intentionally. The three Wall Street guys? You could pass that off as self-defense. Maybe. But his mother? With good reason? I can't let that slide. And yet what I want to do is let it slide. Forget that this happened. That this was a conscious decision he made. The man I love can't be a murderer.

Allison brings Sophie over to our apartment later that day, and she and Devin really hit it off. Allison and I retreat into the kitchen, where I explain further what's happened since I left Sophie's place. 

"His mother?" she whispers, hand over her mouth. 

"Yeah," I nod, staring into the glass of water I'd gotten for myself. It was like a rock dropping into a pond- dread and anxiety slowly sinking and seeping into me. 

"Mars," Allison grabs my wrist and I look up in shock, putting the glass down on the counter. "You have to stop seeing him. I know you care about him. But this man is dangerous. Before now you'd never have thought he'd kill his mother. Nobody would have. What if it's you next, Mars? What are we going to do if he comes for you next?" 

"He needs help," I argue. 

"He does," she agrees vehemently. "Help that you can't give him, Mars. You aren't a therapist. You aren't a counselor or a psychiatrist. He's insane. Dangerous," she repeats. "I don't want to see you dead. I don't want to turn on the news and see that the 'clown vigilante' struck again, but this time, it's you!" 

"I know," I say. She lets go of my wrist but doesn't take a step back. 

"You have to stop." 

"I'll try," I tell her, heart sinking. Allison gives me a look. "I promise," I say. 

"Good," she steps back and picks up her own glass. "Come on, I want to see if Devin and Sophie are smooching yet." 

"Oh God, ew," I scrunch up my face. "Of course not! The hell is wrong with you?" Allison giggles and walks out into the living room. Devin and Sophie are sitting on the couch, laughing together. Devin looks happier than I've seen him lately. 

"Mars, I haven't told you yet but," Devin says, turning to look at me as I sit on the armrest of the couch. "I called my dad yesterday, told him about-" he gestures. The meds. I nod. "He said he's worried. That if I want it, my parents' next-door neighbors are renting out an apartment where they live, and I can get my medication there. Where the social services are way more reliable." 

"That's great!" I grin. "Your parent's are in DC, right?" 

"Yeah," he smiles. "It'll be great to see them again. They're worried about us, with the riots down here." 

"I'd be worried for us, too," I shrug. 

"They also want to know if you'd come with me." Devin says, a little quieter. 

"What?" I ask. I know what he's asking, I just- I've never met his parents. And they want me to come to DC to live with their son there? 

"I talk about you to them, you know," he says, rolling his eyes. "They know about you. They think it would be nice if you came too. You get out of Gotham and I get my best friend to come with me. I don't have many friends up there." 

I think about it for a moment. Getting out of Gotham would be amazing. Not having to watch my back (or my wallet) going down the street sounds great. Not having to worry about getting jumped at night much, that would be awesome. And I could probably get better jobs in DC, maybe score an agent and become a real artist, instead of a bar singer doing covers in dingy clubs. But then my thoughts drift, as they seem to do now, to Arthur. I'd be leaving him. Here. In Gotham. Alone, hurt, and- 

_"What if it's you next, Mars? What are we going to do if he comes for you next?"_

Allison's words ring in my ears, reminding me of the promise I made her just minutes before. I look up at Devin. His eyes are wide. 

He's my best friend. And he doesn't deserve to be alone in DC, with people he doesn't know. He doesn't deserve to have to start over completely. He should have better things, and he will in DC. 

"Yeah," I find myself nodding. "Yeah. That sounds great. I'd do it." 

"Really? You want to go?" Devin asks, excitement flooding his expression. I can't help but mirror it, smiling widely back at him. 

"Hell yeah!" I grin. "I'm in. I always wanted to see the Washington Monument, anyway." 

"It's last minute," Devin says with a laugh. "Real last minute, especially because my parents want us there by my little sister's birthday, so I can be there for that." 

"When's that?" I ask. 

"Saturday," he says. It's Tuesday. 

I nod, looking around the apartment. I look back at Devin and grin. "I think we just might be able to pull it off." Allison whoops, offering me and Devin high-fives. Sophie grins and does the same. 

"Here's to getting out of this hellhole!" I cheer, holding up my water glass in a mock toast. We all clink our glasses together and collapse into fits of giggles. 

The next few days are spent packing. Devin and I combine our cash and get some moving boxes. The biggest problem is with my keyboard, but I can fold up the bottom and just carry it under my arm if I need to. Allison offers to drive us to DC, and it's not too far, but it's a big help as neither of us have a car. 

Devin asks how I know Allison, and Sophie by proxy, so I find myself explaining the whole thing to him, too. He agrees with Allison, and hugs me, telling me he's glad I'm choosing to go with him. 

Friday is when things get crazy. Devin and I are sitting on the couch, drinking beers while watching the news. The riots are continuing, getting increasingly out of hand. Tonight's is shaping up to be the worst yet. But there's nothing the cops can do about it, just wait for it to die down. But it's been a little over a week and they're showing no signs of quieting. The feds aren't doing shit either, I think they're scared. I say this to Devin, and he agrees. 

We're watching the news, but I make Devin change the channel after a bit ("The city's burning around us in real life, Dev, we don't need to see it on TV, too."). He changes it to the Murray Franklin show, and I let out a tiny sigh. I could use some comedy. 

"Alright, Bob, let's show that clip one last time," Murray says, and the clip of Arthur at Pogo's starts playing again. 

"Is that him?" Devin whispers. 

"Yeah," I say. My heart sinks. My resolve to take Allison's advice and avoid Arthur wavers. Why the fuck are they playing this again? What is the point? 

"You may have seen that clip of our next guest. Now, before he comes out, I just wanna say that we're all heartbroken about what's going on in the city tonight." 

"Bullshit," I growl. Devin looks over at me, shocked. "What?" I ask. "It's bullshit. He's not even heartbroken over what caused the riots. He's 'heartbroken' because the poor people in this city wanna eat people like him alive." 

"True," Devin concedes. "The rich are just mad 'cause we caught 'em in the act." 

"The act of screwin' us over," I drawl, and focus back on the television. 

"This is how he wanted to come out, and I think we all could use a good laugh, so please welcome- Joker!" 

"Joker?" I mumble. And we watch as Arthur, in full clown makeup and a suit, saunters out to wild applause. He does a little dance, spinning around, and shakes Murray's hand. 

"Joker," Devin nods. 

Arthur walks up onstage and kisses an old lady right on the lips for longer than would be strictly necessary. And when he pulls away, both the woman, the man standing near her, and Franklin himself look a little confused. He looks down, wipes the imaginary lint off the seat, and goes to sit. And his hair is green. That should not be as hot as it is. I have to stop that line of thought right there. 

"You alright, doctor?" Murray asks, and Devin and I can't help but laugh. "Well. That was quite an entrance." Arthur just sits in silence in the chair, surveying the crowd. "You okay?" Franklin presses as the silence stretches on. 

"Yeah," Arthur says slowly. "This is exactly how I imagined it." 

Murray sits in stunned silence for a second. "Well, that makes one of us." And the audience laughs. I do too, though I feel a little bad for Arthur. Murray might not be the best guy, but he's got good comedic timing and he knows it. 

"So, can you tell us about this look?" Murray gestures, and I notice that the older woman Arthur had kissed five minutes ago is still looking shaken. I snicker a bit. "When we spoke earlier, you mentioned that this look is not a political statement, is that right?" 

"That's right, Murray. I'm not political. I'm just trying to make people laugh." And his voice sounds- different, but then all of this is new and different to me, so I don't comment on it. 

"And how's that going for you?" The audience starts to laugh. Arthur actually joins in, his laugh high and breathy and fake. 

"So, I know you're a comedian, you been working on any new material? Wanna tell us a joke?" Franklin asks. The crowd starts cheering and applauding. 

After a moment, Arthur concedes, "Okay," and pulls out a notebook. 

Murray looks down at it and comments, "He's got a book. A book of jokes." 

Silence stretches as Arthur flips pages. 

"Take your time, you got all night," Murray jokes, and the spectators laugh. 

Arthur giggles a little too, and says, "Okay. Here's one." and he looks out at the audience and says, more calmly and confidently than I've ever heard him, "Knock, knock." 

"What the fuck is he doing?" Devin whispers. I keep my eyes glued to the television. 

A pause. "And you had to look that up?" Murray says. The crowd starts clapping at it. Suddenly Franklin's jokes are a lot less funny than I originally thought. 

"I want to get it right," Arthur says. "Knock, knock." 

"Who's there?" Murray plays along. 

"It's the police, ma'am. Your son's been hit by a drunk driver. He's dead." And Arthur starts laughing. The audience boos. I'm frozen with shock. 

"Ah! No, no- you can't joke about that," the old lady pipes up. Franklin shakes his head. 

"Yeah, that's not funny, that's not the kind of humor we do on this show." he says. 

"No, here, we make fun of other people relentlessly," I say, rolling my eyes. Devin shakes his head but his eyes are wide. He can't believe what he's hearing either. 

"Sorry. It's been a rough few weeks, Murray. Ever since I killed those three Wall Street guys." 

"Did he just-" Devin turns to me. "He just said it!" 

"I know," I say, putting my beer down and leaning forward, towards the TV. I'm reeling. What is he doing? Is he trying to get himself arrested?" 

"Okay. I'm waiting for the punchline," Franklin says. 

"There is no punchline." A pause. "It's not a joke." Murray Franklin sits up, brows furrowed. 

"You're serious, aren't you? You're telling us you killed those three young men on the subway. Why should we believe you?"

"I've got nothing left to lose," Arthur giggles a little. "Nothing can hurt me anymore." He takes a breath and adopts a odd accent. "My life is nothing but a comedy." The audience boos, someone shouts something but nobody's listening. All anyone can look at is Arthur, in his clown makeup, confessing to murder on live television. 

"Let me get this straight, you think killing those guys is funny?" 

"I do," Arthur says, almost preening. "And I'm tired of pretending it's not. Comedy is subjective, Murray, isn't that what they say? All of you, this system that knows so much, you decide what's right or wrong. The same way you decide what's funny! Or not." he says, adding the accent to the last three words. 

Murray leans forward. He isn't scared. I bet he's thinking if he can pull this off without dying the world is going to love him. "Okay, I think I understand. You did it to start a movement, to become a symbol." 

"C'mon, Murray, do I look like the kind of clown who could start a movement? I killed those guys because they were awful." he pauses. "Everybody's awful these days. It's enough to make anyone crazy." 

"Okay, so that's it, huh, you're crazy. That's your defense for killing three young men?" 

"No." Arthur leans forward. "They couldn't carry a tune to save their lives." And I know what he's referring to here- what one Wall Street guy sang to him as they beat him up. Half of me is repulsed, but the other half agrees. This whole damned city is awful. There are audible groans from the crowd. 

"Ugh, why is everyone so upset about these guys?" he sighs. "If it was me dying on the sidewalk, you'd walk right over me! I pass you every day but you don't notice me, but these guys- what, because Thomas Wayne went and cried about them on TV?" 

"You have a problem with Thomas Wayne, too?" Murray asks. 

"Yes I do." Arthur says firmly. "Have you ever seen what it's like out there, Murray? Do you ever actually leave the studio?" he pauses. "Everybody just yells and screams at each other. Nobody's civil anymore!" he gets louder. "Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy." 

"He's crazy, but he's right," Devin says, and I look over, nodding a little. 

"You think men like Thomas Wayne ever think what it's like to be a guy like me? To be anybody but themselves. They don't." Arthur's voice rises, shaking his head. "They think we'll just sit there and take it like good little boys. That we won't werewolf! And go wild!" 

"So much self-pity, Arthur, you sound like you're making excuses for killing three young men," Murray argues. "Not everybody's awful." 

The glare Arthur gives Franklin makes me shiver, and I'm not even there. "You're awful, Murray." 

There's no more booing now. 

"Me?" Murray says. "How am I awful?" 

"Playing my video." Arthur's voice is a whisper. "Inviting me on the show. You just wanted to make fun of me. You're just like the rest of them." 

"You don't know the first thing about me, pal," Murray says defensively. "Look what happened because of what _you_ did, what it led to. There are riots out there. Two policemen are in critical condition, and you're laughing. You're laughing. Someone was killed today because of what _you_ did." 

"I know," Arthur says, voice just a little humored- "How about another joke, Murray?"

"No, I think we've had enough of your jokes-" Franklin starts, but Arthur cuts him off. 

"What do you get-" 

"I don't think so." 

"When you cross-" he pushes

"I think we're done with-" Murray tries to shut him down. 

"A mentally ill loner, with a society that abandons him, and treats him like trash!" Arthur roars, at the same time as Murray says-

"That's it- call the police, Gene! Call the police." 

"I'll _tell_ you what you get! You get what you fuckin' deserve!" 

And he pulls a gun from his waistband and shoots Murray Franklin in the head. The older man slumps back as screams fill the room. My hand presses over my mouth. Devin lets out a tiny noise of fear. 

"Oh my god," he repeats quietly, over and over. 

And Arthur just sits back and watches the chaos unfold with blood on his white-painted face. A twisted smile forms as he watches people run out of the building, as Murray Franklin's corpse bleeds onto the floor. And I see him laugh just a little bit. This isn't Arthur- or, it isn't the Arthur I knew. This... he really is what Murray Franklin introduced him as- he's Joker. 

"Oh my god," I find myself saying. I grab the remote and mute the TV. 

Devin's holding his bottle so tight it might break. I'm about to cry. This isn't the man I love. Now the reality of it really sinks in. 

"What if it's you next, Mars? What are we going to do if he comes for you next?"

Thank God we're leaving this city tomorrow. 

I get up, going to the window. The city's in flames a ways off. I see cop cars racing through the streets, presumably on their way to the studio. I let my eyes unfocus the longer I stand there, watching the chaos unfold even further. I vaguely hear Devin unmute the television, switching to the news. 

"Mars?" 

I don't respond. It feels like I'm frozen to my place. 

"Mars. You gotta see this," Devin says, more insistent this time. I turn, walking over behind the couch, picking up my beer on the way. He looks back at me for a second, then turns up the volume. A reporter's trying to talk, but the cameramen seem intent on getting their footage. 

"The comedian who shot late-night talk show host Murray Franklin has been arrested. However, a crazed driver in the riots has crashed their vehicle into the police car carrying the man who Franklin introduced as 'Joker'. It is unclear whether there are any survivors..." 

I take a long drink from my bottle, blinking back hot tears at all of this. I can't cry at this. I can't cry now. 

And as the reporter's voice fades into background noise, the camera captures Arthur being pulled out of the wreckage, bleeding from the head. The punks in clown masks uncuff him and drag him onto the hood of the cop car. A crowd of people in clown makeup and masks circles him as he wakes up, coughing and laughing. As he stands, the rioters start to cheer. He raises a hand and the roars of the crowd get louder, wilder. 

He looks at his bloody hands, looks up. His gaze lands dead at the camera. And he lifts two fingers on each hand and paints a wide smile across his face with his own blood. The crowd is screaming, clamoring to be as near to the squad car as possible. 

Arthur smiles. 

No, this isn't Arthur. 

_Joker smiles._

  
We moved out of Gotham for good the next day. Allison, Devin and I drove two hours to DC with the stuff we needed every day in the back. Devin's parents would help move the rest. We sang in the car, stopped at a gas station for too many Twizzlers and cappuccinos in cans. 

It's been two weeks. I haven't heard anything from him, neither has Allison, or anyone, for that matter. Sophie hasn't seen him. And I've stopped asking her. I'm doing alright. I'm okay, considering... everything. I hope he is too.

Allison called the other night. She asked me if I'd ever consider going back to Gotham. I told her I'd visit, of course. But she said that the cops had taken Arthur into custody, and that he was in Arkham. Would I come back, if they let me see him? It hadn't been a test. It was something genuine. Would my affection for Arthur override my common sense? And I had thought about it for a while. So I said-

"He needs help, help that I can't give him," I had echoed her words back to her, voice steady. "And unless it's to visit you, and Sophie, I don't think I'm ever going back." Allison murmured her assent, saying she'd do the same. 

A couple months later, Sophie calls to tell me she and Allison are dating. I congratulate them, and Devin just yells into the phone that he knew it, and that I owe him ten dollars. Yeah. We bet on it. Sophie giggles as Allison gets on the phone, and the four of us spend the next ten minutes insulting each other. 

Sometimes I forget, even though it's never for long. I know that some part of me might not still love Arthur, but will still care about him. Worry. Wonder if he's doing alright. If he's out of Arkham now. But I never dwell on it. I left Gotham for a reason. I started over for a reason. 

Sometimes I wonder if any of this was even real. If I had just dreamed it. It happened in flashes. 

It comes back in flashes too. 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh my god.
> 
> tenth chapter! the end! the journey is over! my ramblings shall begin!
> 
> first, i wanna thank all the people who have commented or left kudos on this as i worked on and updated it. y'all made me really happy and gave me the motivation to finish. you're great. thank you. i also want to thank TODD PHILLIPS and JOAQUIN PHOENIX for bringing this awesome movie to life and inspiring this work. 
> 
> second- these characters mean the world to me. i love arthur, i love the original characters i've put in (mars, devin, allison, other minor characters). i was trying to work out how this should end for all of them- i had devin and mars' plan in place, but sophie and allison? sophie and devin was my first pairing, but come on. having mars and devin take off and leaving sophie and allison together in Gotham? too good to pass up.   
> tl;dr- i love my original characters. the idiot squad. 
> 
> third, and i swear this is it: if y'all want the spotify playlist i used for inspiration while writing this, drop a comment, i'll link it here if you want. :) 
> 
> i love you guys. thank you sm for reading, and for putting up with my stupid ass during the process. i'll probably go back and edit/rewrite things but this is it! last chapter! i love you platonically! 
> 
> my twitter's @cobblebird so yell at me there if u want ig ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> love,   
> fiveisarat/luke

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on wattpad and twitter: @bambiebeckett and @cobblebird respectively :)) 
> 
> i purposely left the song that mars hums open for debate, so put whatever you want in there. i wrote it so it would be (take a wild guess) viva la vida by coldplay but you can do whatever with it. i also wrote this so it could be set in modern times, especially technology-wise, but most things from the movie are kept the same. 
> 
> leave a comment or a kudos, they are my ~ lifeblood ~


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